Caught in a Web
by PenguinsWillReignSupreme
Summary: Who knew that it would be little Molly Weasley the second that would entrance Seb Becker, king of all things apathetic? Well, you know what they say: The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference...
1. Prologue

**Molly Weasley II**

Summary: Molly Weasley the second is tired of being told she is a lot like her grandmother in every way. Hogwarts was her place to strike out, to finally be herself and show everyone she wasn't exactly like Nanna Weasley. But in doing the unthinkable, Molly finds herself knee deep in a problem that could bring chaos to the world. Who knew Hufflepuffs had a web of lies so tightly woven, or that the fiesty Molly Weasley would captivate them all.  
_For darkladyofslytherin's next generation challenge.  
_**Ship**: Molly Weasley/OC

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**Molly POV**

_"Ah, no need to guess who you are, is there?"_

_"Oh, thank you. You're too nice. I owe you!"_

_"This is wonderful. How on Earth do you cook like this?"_

_"You look just like your grandmother."_

It's the last one that kills me. I get this a lot. Every week, without fail, someone compares me to the woman I was named after. I love my grandmother, don't get me wrong, being like her is a million times better than being like my father, but a teenager being compared with someone pushing seventy? You can only take the comparisons as compliments to a point. That point was reached three years ago.

Sometimes I wish I was more like my mother. I think she's disappointed in me and Lucy. In her day, she was a mischief maker, so everyone tells us. She sneaked out of school to go and stock up on Zonko products and alcohol, she covered the crystal balls in Divination in cooking oil she stole from the kitchens so that the crazy professor at the time couldn't pick them up, she had stolen all the Hufflepuff Quidditch team's clothes during the big match one year, and was also the organiser of the vast majority of Ravenclaw parties that every member of the Weasley family were always surprised to learn of. Instead of the kids she wanted to follow in her footsteps, she ended up with Lucy 'The Know-It-All' and me, 'Miss Stickler-For-The-Rules'. I think that's why she's always so lenient with James and Dominique when they come over. Both of them, I am fairly sure, have already had their first hangover and I know for a fact that James has already gone a lot further than kissing with at least two girls, and they're a year younger than me at fifteen.  
It's sad, isn't it? I'm sixteen and I've never even had a sip of alcohol, or gone further than kissing with anyone. I'm the only one of my relatives to be put in Hufflepuff. The others are all spread across Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fairly equally. My father is the only one of his siblings to not have a child in the house so often associated with our fiery red hair and freckles. I think he's relieved, in a way, that I'm out of the reach of my more laid-back and care-free cousins and in a house full of kind, loyal people that won't turn me into a reincarnation of my mother.

I'm widely recognised as one of the kinder people of Hufflepuff, and that takes some doing. My parents' full-time jobs meant Lucy and I spent a lot of time with our paternal grandmother at her home, alongside some of our other cousins. Nanna taught us to read and write, to do basic Maths, to understand how the world works. When Aunt Fleur turned up to take Victoire, Louis and Dominique home, and it was just me and my sister left, Nanna taught us to sew and to knit and to cook. Lucy's two failings (besides our mutual inability to play Quidditch, which we get from both of our parents) are hand-eye coordination and a shockingly short attention span for somebody so smart. The number of times she pricked her finger on the end of the needle is impossible to count on the hands of all my family. She would leave something simmering on the stove and forget about it, giving us burnt potatoes or vegetables.  
When she was eight, she realised that it was time to give up and whilst me and Nanna slaved over the pots and pans, she'd curl up with a book. These days, I spend my Christmas holidays helping Nanna knit the many jumpers she needs to for presents. I choose the colours and do the ones for the younger kids, under Nanna's watchful eye as she designs those for her children and the eldest of her grandchildren. She's always very careful to do mine first, and hides it away. I've gone looking, but as yet have never been lucky enough to find it.

This year, however, things are going to change. I'm going into my first NEWT year – I somehow managed to get nothing below an 'E' in my OWLs, which I was very happy with, although I think my father was slightly annoyed that I hadn't managed to match or beat the next eldest cousin to me, Victoire – and I am going to change many, many things. I'm going to work harder. In fact, I'm going to work like crazy. Auntie Hermione has hinted that she might be able to put in a good word for me in her Ministry department, and Uncle Bill has said that if I can get nothing less than Es, I will be a shoe-in for a job at Gringotts. If all else fails, I'm sure Uncle George will let me work in one of the shops, although I'm not sure what Dad would say to that – I think he'd pay me to do nothing if that was my only prospect.

I'm also going to ask Victoire to take me Muggle clothes shopping with her one day, and update my wardrobe and maybe get someone other than Nanna to cut my hair. When people say I look like my grandmother, they mean it. I have long, thick, flaming Weasley-red hair that refuses to stay fairly flat for longer than an hour, freckles that cover my cheeks like the plague, glasses without which I am even blinder than Uncle Harry, and the chubbiest cheeks ever imaginable. James used to call me 'Hamster', until one day I lost my temper – well, actually, he called me it twice, I just have a very short fuse – and he ended up as a _real _hamster. He was grounded for two weeks for name-calling, and I got an apology gift from Auntie Ginny, who sympathised with me. James was not impressed, especially when his father gave him a meal of lettuce, carrots and celery for dinner that night. Uncle Harry had popped round with the gift and told us. Even Dad was suppressing a laugh at that. Anyway, my Muggle clothes are all bought by my grandma – my mum's mum – who lives in a little Welsh village miles away from a decent shopping centre. I'm fairly sure they're from charity shops. They're nice enough, but probably meant for sixty year old women, not teenage girls. My robes are always a little on the big side too – I think the tailor takes one look at my cheeks and expects me to grow into them. I am pleased to say the one trait I do _not _share with my grandmother is her current size, rather I am short and slim and proud of it.

It's not just my work and wardrobe that I want to change, however. I want to do _something_. I have no idea what that is going to be, I just want to pull myself away from the association with my grandmother. I want to do one thing that doesn't make me seem like a kind, helpful, if not occasionally short-tempered girl. I want to do something that will make everyone take a step back and reconsider me as my own person, not a reincarnation of someone else. I want to do something _major_.

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**Seb's POV**

_"Will you go and get Jonathan from that tree? He thinks he's a monkey again. That's your fault for reading him that story."_

_"Can you get Juliana ready for bed? I can't stand to hear another second of her whining."_

_"Go and tell that old bat that her dinner's ready."_

_"I wish you'd do something for me for a change."_

Do something for her? Ha. Everything I do I do for her. Seb Becker, glorified babysitter and house-elf to the royalty that is Sarah Logan-Becker: too proud of her pure-blood heritage to take my father's name in its entirety. I mean, my father's worse: one hell of a lot worse. At least my mother has a bit about her. She can stand up for herself. My father is _nice._ That horrific word that no-one uses after the age of six, and no-one should be described as after their ninth birthday. He treats me, his seventeen-year-old son, like I'm my five-year-old brother. He stops me from going out without a coat, even in summer: 'Just in case.' I can't Apparate anywhere, despite having a license for it, without his supervision and consent. Flooing is also deemed slightly dangerous without pre-fire checks. The number of times my mother has hexed him to give us some peace and quiet, or given him potions to give him some personality, is more than my eight-year-old sister can count. He just can't be the slightest bit nasty.

I do wonder what brought them together sometimes, and why the hell I'm still living with them despite being of age. I suppose that answer is simple enough: Juliana and Ariella, my little sister and senile grandmother. Of course, she's not really mad. She puts it on around my mother. After the favourite of her six daughters was killed in the First War, she did lose it for a bit. Then she loved the attention from her children so much that she continued with it. Mother, of course, now finds her attitude intolerable. She's now the eldest of the five remaining siblings, and as such, she got lumbered with the dotty old woman that I confide everything in. My father tries to get her to eat: she throws it in his face. My mother tries to run her a bath: Ariella tries to drown her in it. I go down there and she happily gets up and washes, eats and talks sense. If there were two people in this world I could keep alive forever, she'd be number two.

Number one would be Juliana. Mother had never wanted a girl, and when Jules came along eight years ago she was furious. Having grown up in a female dominated home, with her father dying when she was only six, Mother detested female company. Like Mother, Juliana is extremely needy and whiny. Father smothers her with gifts and affection, which Jules throws back in his face, just like Ariella. She tries for Mother's affection, but all that is focused on the baby of the family, Jonny. Three years younger and an absolute devil of a child, Jonny's 'nightmares' have forced Father out of the marital bed. Jules, therefore, comes to me at night, when she's scared. I hold her closely, and let her cry. I absolutely adore my little sister. If anyone ever laid a finger on her, I would kill them.

As a student, I'm a loner. I have two 'friends', neither of whom I confide in. I only tell my grandmother how I feel and what I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't even tell her. She's particularly adept at Legilimency, and Occlumency of course. When I hit seventeen, she taught me everything. I'd cracked Occlumency by halfway through the Easter break and the Legilimency is almost there too. Of course, I still need to use the incantation. My non-verbal work may be good but this magic is ridiculously advanced.

My two friends, Dana Warrington and Adam Blaisdell, are like lost lambs. They're together, and it's sickening to see them all over each other. They claim they're in love. I don't really know what love is. I never plan on knowing. It's not something that seems particularly interesting. It makes people go soppy and soft, like Father and Mother when they've had a bit to drink. I don't need anyone but myself. I do respect the two, however, for sticking by me over the last six years. I accept that they, for some bizarre reason, actually like me. I wouldn't like me. I'm moody: smiling isn't something I've done properly in a long, long time. I don't talk a great deal. I spend my free time holed up in my dormitory reading book after book about everything I can – spells, people, magical history to name a few. I eat minimally, and I'm pretty inoffensive. I hate Quidditch, standing outside in the freezing cold watching fourteen idiots flying around on broomsticks is not my idea of fun. I enjoy adventure, pushing boundaries. I like to wander through the Forest at night on my own. I love to escape the school building, go and venture into Hogsmeade, find my own space. I don't like people of my own age. I don't really even like people full stop.

This year is my last year. I have no idea what I want to do after I've finished. I'm going to get straight Os in my seven NEWT subjects. I don't want to follow my father and join the Ministry. There's no way I can stay at home. I want to do something challenging. I've accepted that there is nothing to keep me here. My grandmother will have my sister to keep her company. They'll have each other. I want to go and do something secluded and secretive. I don't mind living out in a forest or a jungle. I can cope with fire and water, earth and air. This year for me will just be a necessity, it will mean nothing. There is nothing in the world that can make my life seem better.

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A/N: Next chapter will be with my beta on Thursday, so should be up in a week or so :D


	2. Chapter 1 London Calling

**29th August 2019**

_Molly's POV_

**Chapter 1: London Calling**

I hate nowhere in the world more than London. I have no idea how people live in that godforsaken city. It's a dump. I find no pleasure in shopping usually, let alone in one of the busiest cities in Britain on a Saturday afternoon. Why on Earth couldn't she have taken me somewhere quiet, up near where I live? Surely Liverpool and Manchester are less busy than the hell-hole we ended up in? But no, of course not. Victoire has gained a great level of snobbishness from her mother, and whilst Dominique and Louis are fairly grounded, like the rest of us Weasleys, Vic is a firm belief that Southerners beat Northerners any day, without even bringing in the Welsh v English argument. She comes to our house over in North Wales, which is surrounded by fields and hills, where you can actually breathe in air without reducing your life expectancy by a year, and she sits inside, glaring at the rolling hills and hedgerows. She grew up on the South coast, where you can go into the sea without freezing to death, and sees no attraction in fields full of farm animals and 'that horrid smell' that is salt-free, clean air. My home, the furthest north of all of us Weasleys due to my mother's insistence that we stay near her family, is like The Burrow in many respects. The nearest house to us is half a mile away, we have a garden big enough to house all of my cousins and their parents, pets and friends, we are free to use magic as we like, since no-one ever comes down our lane, and the house is so higgledy-piggledy that it makes you dizzy just looking at it. To go from this to a city where you blow your nose and it comes out black, and where you can't move for Muggles with those stupid phones glued to their ears, is torture for a little country girl like myself.

Victoire turned up to my house at eleven in the morning, Apparating neatly outside the front door and knocking daintily. I'd been up for hours, waiting with anticipation for the day, and she stepped into the hallway announcing that she was taking me to London. My eyes widened. I'd never been shopping to Muggle London, only ever Diagon Alley. Mum always told me it wasn't worth it, so I had never wanted to go. Yes, okay, it has a fantastic history, but so do other places in the world, seeing these historic places myself never interested me. I grinned widely and Victoire, towering above me by six inches, wearing high heels even for a day of hard-core shopping, ruffled my hair. It fell limply back down around my shoulders and she looked at me analytically. She nodded at herself, and looked down at me.

"Where's your mum?" she asked, glancing to her left and right then to the stairs. Kitchen or lounge? Study or bedroom?

Victoire _loves_ my mum, an appreciator of fashion in a different way to Aunt Fleur. Mum is all for the alternative, not necessarily looking pretty, but looking good. Whilst Fleur thinks about comfort and style, my mother will go through agony to look like she's just stepped off the catwalk. That's why I wanted to go with Victoire. I know that in spite of her snobbery, she will pace me, not let me get in too far above my head, unlike my mother, who when she has a free minute (admittedly, that is rare), tries to dress me in her clothes and teach me to walk in five-inch heels. She never takes us shopping any more. She gave that up two years ago, and lets us wear what her mother sends, and since neither Lucy nor I show an interest in her hobby, she doesn't waste her time. When I told her Victoire was taking me out, she was slightly hurt, actually, but I know that she'll have given Vic a huge list of things to introduce me too, and will probably supply the money.

"Kitchen," I said glumly.

Victoire ran, her heels clicking lightly on the floorboards, past the staircase to the kitchen at the back of the house, where my mother was plaiting Lucy's hair. Seeing one of her favourite nieces, she dropped the braid and flung herself at Vic. Honestly, I'm more mature than she is. They started speaking rapidly, not even finishing sentences before the other gave her answer. They're two halves of the same whole, I'm sure. If Victoire wasn't the spitting image of her own mother, I'd say they were the mother and daughter of this family. Vic doesn't even call my mum 'Aunt' any more, just plain Audrey. If I tried that with any of _my_ aunts, I'd be sent to my room straight away.

"Molly, love," Mum looked at me, her eyes were blue that day, and sparkling, "can you finish Lucy's hair for me? I've got to go and show Victoire that new pair of shoes I got last week."  
She turned her attention away from me and back to my cousin before I could even answer. I sighed heavily and stood behind my little sister, just turned twelve, to pull apart the attempt that Mum had made to plait it. Hands grasped together, my mum and cousin ran upstairs. I could hear them, both in heels, clacking over the floor above my head.

"French plait, Luce?" I asked, brushing her mouse brown hair softly. She nodded and obediently took her glasses off. It only took me a few minutes to finish, and she hopped up and off to her room.

I put the brush away on the top and wandered aimlessly to my parents' study. I knocked on the door and I could hear my dad's exasperated voice telling me to come in.

"Hey, Dad," I muttered, shutting the door behind me. He turned in shock to see me, and not Lucy or Mum. Dad and I have little in common. I admire him, I do. He's got a good heart, but I sometimes feel like I'm not the daughter he really wants. I know that Lucy satisfies that role. I don't know where I stand with him sometimes, but he's good to talk to. He piled his work together and turned to me. I walked over to his desk and sat down in the empty space.

"Your mother said that Victoire is taking you shopping?" I felt slightly ashamed for not mentioning it to him myself. I nodded shyly. "Be careful, Molly." He said it so patronisingly that I almost cringed. Instead, I just looked at him in disbelief. "I know you don't need me to say that, but it will put my mind at rest," he continued with a small smile.

"I can take care of myself, Dad," I added to reassure him, and I can. I'm many things as a Hufflepuff, but a pushover is not one of them. I have a mind of my own and I use it – sometimes. He smiled at me again.

"Don't let her go over the top," he warned. "You know what Vic is like. Don't buy anything you're not comfortable in. Don't let her control you."

"I'm not going with Mum for a reason, Dad," I responded. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised, and gave a chuckle and a nod. From upstairs, the footsteps recommenced. "I think that's my cue to leave. I'll see you later." Without thinking, I leant over and hugged him. I must have taken him by surprise, because he stiffened, but a second later, he put his arms around me and pressed a kiss to my cheek. I pulled back, fairly sure I was blushing slightly at the unusual show of affection that had possessed my father, and slid off the desk. "See you later, Dad." He murmured a reply as I shut the door and turned to face my fate. Mum's cheeks were flushed with excitement as she sat at the kitchen table.

"We're going to head off now, Molly," Victoire said, walking in from the hallway and pulling me towards her. She cast a slightly disapproving look at my clothes: a blue blouse that has always had an odd smell to it, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees and shabby trainers that were slightly too small. I glance to my mother, who despite having had two kids is only one dress size bigger than me. Her fitted top and low-slung jeans make her look like she has the body of a twenty year old, not someone twice that age. Mum nodded and flung herself at me. Her hair, a honey blonde that disguises both the grey streaks and her natural mousey colour, got caught in my mouth and I pried her off me.

"I'll be back in a few hours. Why is there all this affection today?" It was supposed to be rhetorical, but Mum looked at me, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Because you're growing up, Mol," she said softly, reaching out and pushing my hair behind my ear. She didn't say anything else, just hugged Victoire and gave a small wave as my cousin dragged me out of the room and over to the fireplace in the lounge. She thrust my bag at me and I pulled it over my body. I picked up some Floo powder, stepped in and let myself be enveloped by the emerald flames as they sent me on my way to a whole new world.

The Leaky Cauldron was heaving. I cast a look to the bar, where our Herbology professor and family friend, Neville Longbottom, was working alongside his wife, Hannah. They both seemed harassed, but as I went over to say hello, Victoire grabbed my hand and shook her head.

"They're busy enough as it is. We'll pop by later," she explained, squeezing through the crowds of people. In a corner, I spotted Evie, their eldest daughter the same age as James and Dominique, cleaning tables and collecting glasses. She looked equally exhausted but Victoire pulled me outside the second I went to open my mouth to shout her.

As soon as I saw the chaos outside, I froze. People were just moving everywhere, like they were on autopilot. There was no-one stopping to talk, like I'd remembered from the trips to Liverpool and people were being bashed and crushed as high-flying business men stormed down the roads, briefcases flying in one hand, the other occupied with a mobile phone. I shuddered involuntarily as Victoire pulled me into the masses and headed up towards a set of traffic lights at the top of the street.

"Right, so we're on Charing Cross Road," she began to explain, as though I knew what that meant, "so if I remember correctly," she stopped as she nearly bumped into an old man and pulled me with her to avoid him, "if we turn left up here, we should end up on Oxford Street." I looked at her, bewildered. She rolled her eyes and I whimpered as someone banged into me. "That's the main shopping street in London? Do you not listen to your mother?" I felt like she was scolding me and I ripped my hand from hers, stopping in the middle of the street to glare at her.

"Victoire, if you're going to be like this then I am going home," I said forcefully. Someone bumped into me and I stumbled forwards. Vic grabbed my arm and pulled me towards her, into the entrance of a small bookshop. "I didn't come here for you to lecture me. I'm here to get you to help me to sort myself out." She glowered at me and crossed her arms. Sometimes it is extremely hard to believe that she's nineteen years old. She looked me up and down and sighed.

"Fine. Whatever. Just...oh, come on." She grabbed my hand again, squeezing a little harder than she normally would, and pulled me down to the end of the road.

Madness: if I thought Charing Cross had been hell, then Oxford Street was like the whole of Earth possessed by the devil. Business men in a rush were nothing compared with obsessive women with designer handbags grabbing and clawing at clothes without even properly looking at them. Victoire pulled me into shop after shop. I was amazed by how fashion had come on since I last tried to go Muggle shopping. The skinny jeans and layers that I remember my mother wearing in my childhood had been replaced with the comeback of flared trousers that I know my grandmother wore in the 70s. There were t-shirts with gorgeous motifs and cheeky slogans. The prices were higher than before, given the state of Muggle Britain's economy, and the increasing desire for people to have clothes made ethically was another reason for the price rises. Victoire pulled me behind her in every store, grabbing clothes off racks and draping them over her arm. She gathered hole-less jeans, pretty blouses and dresses and shoved me in the direction of the changing room. She waited outside whilst I tried on item after item. She gave her approval, after I'd said whether or not I liked it.

"We'll make a girl out of you yet," she said with a wink, as we piled two pairs of jeans, a t-shirt and three dresses onto the checkout. Mum had provided Victoire with a lot of Muggle money to update my wardrobe, and I couldn't help but wonder whether that had been run past my dad. I smiled weakly as the cashier gave me my fifth bag full of shopping. Together, we thanked her and walked back into the main street. "Hungry?" my cousin asked me as we made our way down the other side of the road. I hadn't realised until she asked but my stomach was growling like a bear and starting to ache slightly.

"I hadn't noticed," I muttered, willing the racket in my body to shut up. It seemed to have multiplied by ten since I acknowledged my hunger. Vic laughed and linked my arm with hers.

"That's what shopping does to you," she said, smiling her perfect smile. "Come on. We'd better eat." Without any consultation, she chuckled again and dragged me into a restaurant nearby.

The one thing I detest most about Vic is the fact that she can eat and eat and eat and not get fat. She stays slim and her skin always glows. She ordered steak and chips, one meal that she loves, whilst I settled for chicken and salad. We thanked the waitress after she took our order and I handed my menu to her. I looked back round to see Victoire staring at me.

"What?" I asked, automatically reaching for my hair. "What's wrong?" Maybe I'd developed a spot or had something up my nose. She smiled softly again, a comforting smile.

"It's nothing, Mol," she said to me, reaching across the table and taking my hands. "Your boyfriend is very lucky to have you, that's all."

Ah yes. My boyfriend: Harrison Tierney. This October will be our 3rd anniversary. We've been seeing each other since the start of third year. He's a Ravenclaw, extremely bright and dead set for a brilliant job. My dad _loves _him. Mum thinks I can do better (how much better I don't know). Lucy has a crush on him herself, I think. She always goes twice as shy as usual when he talks to her and she blushes a bright crimson (she may have escaped the Weasley hair, but she has inherited the horrible flushing curse). He's not _that _great looking, really. He's certainly within my league. He has this fairly short, pale blond hair that always sits perfectly on top of his head, and big green eyes that take my breath way. He's built like a small building: tall and broad, and eats to match it. I adore him. I can't remember him not being there. To me, he is everything.

If anyone else had heard what Victoire had said, not knowing that we were related, they'd probably take that in the wrong context. I, on the other hand, had no idea what she meant, so cast her a confused look.

"You have no self confidence, do you, Mol?" she said, dreamily. She squeezed my hands in hers. It was a silly question really. There I was, sat opposite one of the most beautiful women in the world, and I was supposed to feel confident in myself. I knew every man in the building was casting approving glances at her, and I could also guess what was going through their minds, although it's something I'd prefer not to think about too much. I didn't meet her eye, but instead focused on the salt and pepper shakers. "I wish I was like you sometimes, you know?" she took her gaze from me and focused on the tablecloth. "I wish that I didn't know how beautiful I was. I wish that I could melt into the background sometimes. I wish I had a boyfriend who adored me like Harrison does you. Someone who would trust me." Now, that may sound rude, arrogant and uncaring but coming from Vic, this was a compliment of the highest degree.

"What about Teddy?" Ted Lupin is Vic's long-term boyfriend. He's possibly the hottest guy I've met in my life, in every form that his body can take. They've probably been seeing each other for around two years now, on and off. She doesn't talk about it a lot. As much as she likes to gossip, she isn't keen on having her own private life flaunted for all to see and hear. Her cheeks have a faint pink tinge to them and she retracts her hands from mine so she can play with the tablecloth.

"He doesn't trust me. Not really. He's so protective. If a guy even looks at me, he's on them like a shot." Her eyes started to well up. I didn't know what to do, so I just reached my hands over the table to hold them in mine again.

"Vic, he _loves_ you," I said insistently. I'd heard Teddy talking non-stop about Vic to my mum at Louis' birthday party last week. She shook her head. "You're being silly. Stop it. You're gorgeous, Victoire. You're perfection in human form. He's bound to get jealous of other men. It's not that he doesn't trust you, it's that he's scared of losing you." She sniffled and looked up at me. I reached into my bag and pulled out a tissue, handing it to her kindly. She dabbed at her eyes.

"Urgh, my make-up," she muttered. I laughed under my breath and she caught my eye before breaking into giggles herself. She looked at me again, cocking her head to the side. "You know, I bet you've never worn make-up?" I shook my head. I'd never seen the importance of it. "Right. We're going to get you made up this afternoon. How do you fancy a hair cut?" she added, reaching over and pulling at a lock of my limp red mess. "Yeah. We can work with this. What do you say?" She was bouncing up and down in her chair, so excited and happy that it was almost impossible to imagine that she'd been weeping just moments before. I sighed, defeated and nodded. She squealed and giggled again, and I couldn't help but imitate her.

--

She dragged me into a shop and over to the cosmetics stand. She spun them some line about finding colours, and left me to be made up by some woman who looked like she'd coated her face with plaster whilst Victoire went off in search of other things. At the end of the long, long fifteen minutes that it took the woman, she handed my glasses back to me and held a mirror up in front of my face. Even I couldn't deny that I looked better with it: the occasional blemish that I had was covered completely, the blusher made me look like I was actually alive compared to my ghostly complexion of a few minutes ago. With perfect timing as ever, Victoire turned up at my side not two minutes later, with a bag full of products. She thanked the woman and marched me back out to the high street.

"Now, I asked around for a cheap but good hairdresser in the area. Apparently the best one is -" she stopped and turned down a quieter side-street. Her legs, being a great deal longer than mine, raced ahead, taking full advantage of the ability to walk in a straight line without being barged into, and I was struggling to keep up with the pace. "Aha!" she stopped in front of a Muggle hairdresser. "Here we go. Come on," she grabbed my hand again and pulled me through the front door.

Shockingly, and unlike my mother's reports of Muggle hairdressers, the woman was very kind, giving me and Victoire useful tips about hair care and styles. She promised me that I would look fine and sat me down in a chair. I let her wash my hair tenderly, with more care than my mother and I usually took. She started to snip and chop at my hair. The process was so much longer than the magical way. Dad would take me and Lucy to Nanna's house to have our hair cut, claiming that his hair had always been done by her and there had never been a disaster (not counting the time that, as a child, Uncle Ron had ran into his mother and caused Uncle Bill's hair to be cut to his ear on one side, and to his shoulder on the other). Victoire was chatting away, flicking through a Muggle magazine that seemed to be of an even lower level than _Witch Weekly,_ the magazine my mother interned for as a teenager. I answered all the questions I was asked, very worried by the amount of hair that seemed to have come off my head. Seeing my obvious discomfort, Victoire sent me words of comfort every few minutes. I knew that if there was a problem with it, she'd step in. Although I could barely see my face without my glasses, let alone hers, I could tell that she was smiling gleefully beside me.

The haircut took over an hour. The trainee swept up the mass of red hair under her senior's feet. My hair was dried quickly and then straightened with irons ten times better than those my mother uses.

"Okay, glasses on, love," the woman said kindly. I reached onto my lap, where I'd kept them for safe keeping, and popped my glasses back on. My hair was around my cheeks, which made them look a bit thinner than they really were. It was choppy, and kind of resembled Dominique's, although with more control than her locks. I looked older, much older, more like sixteen than the twelve that I resembled before. I couldn't speak. I touched it and felt it slide through my fingers. "Like it?" she asked me, in a slightly worried tone. I could do nothing but nod slowly. I could now see Vic smiling broadly and she pulled me up onto my feet. Lauren, the hairdresser, pulled off my gown to enable my cousin to envelope me in a strong hug.

"I told you!" she said, her eyes shining down at me. She turned to the hairdresser and thanked her, pressing a few notes into her hand. She pulled me to the door. "Keep the change!" then yanked me out back onto the street.

The temperature had not dropped: it must have been nearing 30º and despite having changed into a dress and sandals before we ate, I was still ridiculously hot. "We'd best be getting you back." Victoire's voice broke my concentration. I nodded, still lost for words, and looked around. We'd made it back to the Charing Cross Road junction in absolute silence, a first for Victoire, surely. We chatted about trivial matters on the way back to the pub: school, her job, our cousins. The crowd inside the pub had died down enough for Victoire to allow me to say hello to Neville and Hannah. Evie had finished for the day, and her evening replacement was milling around. As the hand on the clock struck half past six, Victoire ended our conversation, dragging me to the fireplace. "I'm going home. Tell Audrey I'll see her soon." She looked at me like a proud grandmother. "I'm so happy about this, you know? If you need anything, call me." Then she hugged me tightly and helped me into the fireplace. She would Apparate to her flat from inside the building. I watched as Victoire disappeared from sight, and braced myself to land on my hands and knees, weighed down by the sheer number of bags that I had accumulated that day.

My mother was clearly expecting me, because she heard the thud as I hit the floor and was at my side in six seconds flat. I let the bags drop as she pulled me onto my feet and she actually screamed. Extremely shrilly. I cringed and she hugged me tightly. "Your hair!" she squealed, touching it softly. I stepped out of her embrace and nodded. She took my hands and scrutinised my face closely. "You're wearing make-up!" I nodded again, feeling my cheeks heat up under the cosmetics. "And that _dress_!" she bent down and examined the fabric closely. "Oh I am letting Vic take you shopping again! Give me your glasses." She stood up and took them from my face before I could give my approval. She tapped them with her wand and I watched as they became sleek with thick brown frames, rather than round and black, like Uncle Harry's. She gave them back to me and I put them back on. My mother looked at me again, more seriously now. "My little girl's all grown up," she muttered, reaching to stroke my cheek tenderly. I smiled. "You know your dad will _die, _don't you?" she added suddenly. I grinned and nodded. "It's worth it." We both laughed. "PERCE! You have to see this!" she yelled over her shoulder. There was a clanging noise as Dad dropped a pot and walked swiftly into our living room. He choked on whatever words were going to fall from his mouth and clung to the door frame for support. Mum pushed me forwards so I was closer to him.

"M-Mol-Molly?" he stammered, flushing the colour of a post-box. I nodded shyly, suddenly feeling very exposed. He took a minute to regain his composure, removed his hands from the door, the force with which he clung to it had made his knuckles turn white, and stood up straight.

"Doesn't she look lovely?" Mum's voice came from somewhere behind me, above the rustling that was obviously her searching through my bags. Dad seemed to stumble over his words again. I took another step towards him and this time he stepped back. I paused as Mum tutted and scolded him. He took off his glasses and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.

"Sorry, I just...you look very nice, Molly," he muttered. I grinned – coming from him that was like saying I could walk down the catwalk at any given moment. I smiled again, took my bags from my mother and ran up to my room. As I passed Lucy's open door, she cast a confused look out at me and my unusual burst of energy. I emptied the bags onto my bed and began to hang them up inside.

"This came for you today," Lucy's timid voice at my door shocked me slightly. I stepped out from behind the wardrobe doors and she started. I took the envelope from her and said a quiet thank you. "You look pretty, Mol," she added with a cute smile before taking off again.

I smiled to myself and shut the door behind her. I threw the letter on the bed without a second thought, and started piling more clothes into the wardrobe. I took great gratification in piling up my old, scabby tops and jeans and felt positively fabulous at the thought of burning them. I cast a look in the mirror with a smile and picked up the pile of clothes, shoving them in a carrier bag. I lifted it up and took it downstairs, where my mother agreed that burning them might be a good idea. As I watched the bag go up in flames later that evening, I realised that I'd not opened my letter. I excused myself and ran upstairs. I tipped my room upside down and with a jolt, remembered where I'd abandoned it. I sighed deeply and ran a hand through my hair. I'd glanced at the writing earlier. It was only from Harrison, and since I'd see him in a couple of days anyway, I thought nothing more about it, just went back downstairs, curled up against my mother and watched the fire burn.

* * *

A/N: Chapter 2 shall be on its way soon - for now: what do you think so far? Okay? Characterisation going well? Any advice is helpful :D


	3. Chapter 2 Family Bonding

Chapter 2: Family Bonding  
29th August 2019

_Seb POV_

Hearing the word 'family' actually makes me shudder. That's because whenever I hear that word it means it is 29th August. 29th August means a day out. A day out means going to a loch not too far from where we live in Stirlingshire and having to fake niceness to each other, as if we really care about what the other one feels like. One thing Muggle that my parents do support is cars. They love them. My grandmother takes a lot of convincing to get into one but we always manage it, nonetheless. Then we drive. Jonny gets car sick and usually vomits spectacularly over Rick, who is three years younger than me and always ends up sat next to our youngest sibling. Mother just laughs and clears it up with her wand, and Jules always giggles at Rick's face as he tries not to throw up as well. I sit in the very back of the car with Ariella and Stephen, the middle child. He reads whilst my grandmother tests my Occlumency ability in total silence, as I pretend to read over my brother's shoulder.

This day is no different. We piled into the car, Rick learning from past error and covering his lap with a coat. Father buckled Juliana in, since she was going through an 'I can't do anything myself, treat me like a baby' phase, and Mother placed Jonny into his car seat. I caught him give Rick a mischievous grin as Mother shut the door. I helped my grandmother in beside me, holding her wrinkled hand in my rough one. Stephen frowned at my grandmother's sudden frailty and my uncharacteristically compassionate gesture. I leant over and shut the door behind her, and she gave me a quick wink. I gave a sly smile, the only kind that I'm any good at, and sat down again.

The journey was pretty uneventful. Jonny was only sick three times, most of which went over Rick, although Juliana had a fit when some got her dress. Father took out his wand and cleared her up in a second, but it took some tough convincing from me to stop her having a fully fledged tantrum in the middle of Muggle Scotland. Jules' tantrums usually involve explosions of the extremely dramatic sort. Mother scolded me for ignoring Jonny's question, whilst I was concentrating on blocking my grandmother from reading what was going through my mind, and that was the highlight of the journey.

As usual, we drove to an area, over steep rock faces and undulating hills, where Muggles never went. Mother whipped out her wand and in seconds, everything was laid out for us. I sat with Jules and Ariella, whilst Jonathan sat on Mother's lap. The older boys sat with Father, who was trying to get my grandmother to let Juliana sit with her mother. His attempts failed, as Jules cuddled against our grandmother who, in turn, put a protective arm around her and hissed. I disguised a smile as a cough, which Ariella noted and smirked at.

It seemed like hours had passed. The eight of us sat in complete silence, which was occasionally broken by the cry of a crow or the crunch of a crisp. I looked out over the loch. The clouds were beginning to form overhead. It was beginning to feel muggy and damp: the best type of weather, in my opinion. It would mean that we could pack up and go home, and I wouldn't have to pretend to care what Patrick was going to do after his OWLs, or which house Stephen hoped to be put in. My mother followed my gaze.

"It's okay. We can put a charm up," she suggested, misunderstanding my glance to the skies, and pulled Jonny further back on her lap, holding him tightly. Last year, Stephen had fallen ill on the trip and Jonny, in a search for Mother's attention, had run off. I was forced to wander around on the muddy, dank lakeside looking for the four-year-old and managed to find him about to jump into the lake. The suicidal tendencies of our family started early in him. I did consider letting him do it, just to see what Mother would do, before thinking that my grandmother would be oddly disappointed in me if I let my brother drown, and grabbed his arm as he took another sure step towards the bank. He screamed the place down and Father had to Silence him in order for me to regain some sense of hearing. My stomach was bruised for weeks afterwards where the stupid child had kicked me trying to squirm his way out of my deathly tight grasp. I cheered myself up with the thought that he too had been bruised by the hold I had on his tiny body: finger shaped marks on either side of his rib cage. It was only my father's kind nature that prevented me from being hexed into next year by my mother, who cooed and fussed over Jonathan every moment of the day until I started back at school.

This time, she clearly wasn't going to let him wander off, and whilst she played I-Spy with him, Stephen was feeding his face, Rick was trying to tan but failing miserably and Ariella was playing with Jules' blonde curls. Father was watching everyone serenely and I felt the urge to punch him, just to see if I'd get a reaction from him. He's never shouted at me, never so much as raised his voice to my siblings, not once. When I can't sleep, I think about what it would take to get him to react, just a little bit. It would have to be something major, something serious in the long-term. I considered dropping out of school, then realised he'd just tell me that it was fine if it was what I really wanted. Maybe assaulting someone would do the job? But if I did that, then I'd have to restrain myself from going too far. My self-restraint is extremely low. I can change mood in a second, like an elastic band snapping back into place. It takes very little for me to get out of control.

I didn't even hear my father coming up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder, which made me cringe. I turned to face him and he gestured for me to follow him. He released his hand but still I felt the shape of it burning into me. I didn't say a word, didn't meet my grandmother's curious gaze or my mother's glare, just got up and followed my father away from the site and over to a shade of trees. He was stood against an old birch tree, his greying hair slicked back from his face as though he was trying to be like some Muggle film star. I leant against the tree opposite him, more casually like this was a fleeting conversation.

"Sebastian," he began, slowly and deliberately. His voice was quite high pitched, for a man, nowhere as deep as my own. It was soft, as though he was scared of causing me offence. He always called me by my full name, not understanding that I hated it intensely. "Are you okay?" I knew it. I bloody knew it. That was all he wanted: to know if I was all right.

"I'm fine." It came out a little harsher than usual and I noticed him cower a little. I'm much taller than him, almost half a foot taller, in fact: a trait I inherited from my mother's family.

"I have been meaning to talk to you, Sebastian." That's another of the million things that annoy me about my father: his habit of adding your name to almost every sentence he says. I look at him expectantly, trying to look as interested in possible and failing miserably.

"I think you need to start looking at what you want to do next year. You only have one year left at Hogwarts, Sebastian. You have no idea what you want to do with your life. Don't you think you should be out there, looking?" I shrugged. He was right: I had no idea what I wanted to do. Seventeen isn't an age that a person should have to make such a big decision. He sighed.

"Honestly, Sebastian." I knew he was thinking that if it were Rick or Stephen in my position, they'd have made their choices by now and be well on the way to achieving their goals. "Do you have to be so indifferent to everything?" Although his voice was as boring as ever, it did seem to have an edge to it as he said this, a slightly annoyed edge. It summed everything up so perfectly. Had he never heard of the saying 'The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference?' Maybe then he'd understand. I yearned to say it, just get it over with, but I opted for a shrug. His nostrils flared slightly.

"What I am trying to say to you, Sebastian," I cringed, "is that I can offer you a job as an Obliviator in my department, if you would like to accept it. You will start from the bottom. I will not give favouritism just because you are my son. There is a genuine opening for next September. At least promise me that you will consider it." I tried not to look as horrified as I felt inside. Working with my father would be a fate worse than death. I looked down at him and sighed.

"Whatever. I'll think about it." I could at least pretend to show a mild interest, just to get him off my back. He seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded slowly, the silver in his moustache glinting in the sunlight that was straining to break through the clouds above our heads. He suggested we return. "I'd rather stay here for a second." He knew why, and gave me a disapproving look.

"If you must," he then conceded, walking off and not looking back. As soon as he was out of sight, I pulled a packet of cigarettes from my coat pocket. It was a habit I picked up in my third year, the influence of a Muggle-born fifth-year student who offered me one when I bumped into her in the Forest. She assured me that we wouldn't get caught, and that was when the addiction started. She supplied me with the cigarettes, and I snuck into Hogsmeade where I found cheap scent modifiers in the back of the Three Broomsticks, designed to change the smell of the smoke. I affixed the tiny pad to the darker end of the cigarette and lit it with my wand. The fumes turned a light purple, and I inhaled the lavender scent deeply.

Both of my parents deeply disapprove of my habit. They see it as dirty and disgusting, despite the fact that it in no way affects them. They refuse to let me do it in front of my siblings, although it never stops me if they're not around. My grandmother, whilst disapproving, is slightly more lenient and lets me stay in the house and do it, providing I use the rose petal scent. I slid down the tree and closed my eyes. The sounds of chirping and cooing from a nest somewhere in the wood were driving me insane, their shrillness making my ears scream in agony. I tried to block it out, to block out every noise except my own breathing, gentle and carrying on the light breeze that was ruffling my hair. I pulled my knees up towards me and wrapped my arms around them, the cigarette in my right hand was blowing the smoke back into my face. I coughed loudly and let a small sigh escape my mouth. The birds were still shrieking into my ears and I groaned a little, letting my head loll to one side. I wished I could just wander off, leave and live away from this hell I call my family. I had the urge to open my eyes and look across to them, but to do so would be to appear that I cared. I closed off the squeals from Jonny as somebody tickled him, and the low voice of my middle brother, discussing houses with Patrick. I pulled the cigarette to my lips again and took another drag.

"Have you ever been in love, Seb?" I choked on the smoke at the question from my little sister, who had appeared at my side from nowhere. My eyes flew open and I saw her standing there, rocking back and forth on her heels and looking at me with her big green eyes. Her white dress fluttered in the breeze and I stretched out my legs and arms, tiredly. I patted my knee and she sat on my lap. I wrapped my arms around her, the smoke tickling her chin. She screwed up her nose a little and giggled. I smiled a little too.

"No, Jules," I replied. "Where's that nonsense come from?" It was probably those stupid fairytales that Father insisted on buying her from a Muggle bookshop last week. She shivered a bit as the breeze picked up and I put the cigarette down to hold her a little closer. She shrugged against my chest and I rolled my eyes, lifting the cigarette back to my mouth.

"Why not? Have you never had a girlfriend?" she raised her eyebrows at me. I could tell the truth, of course, but to tell an eight-year-old that her brother has only ever had casual make-out sessions in empty classrooms would be a bit over the top.

"One, Jules. Just the one, and no, I didn't love her," I added, anticipating her next question, "she wasn't a nice person." Oh the irony. The only girl I'd ever thought about being in the slightest bit serious with was one of the nicest girls I'd ever met: Grace O'Donnell, two years older than me and a Ravenclaw. If I hadn't tried to take it too far with her, who knows? Maybe we'd be together. As it was, I got a slap from Grace and a week of the cold shoulder from Dana who disapproved of my 'antics', as she phrased it. Juliana gave up at this. I took a final drag, pushed her a little bit to signal for her to get up, and I put out the cigarette on the ground at my side.

I hauled myself up, dusted off my hands and followed my sister out of the wood, watching her blonde hair, so different from my own rich brown, flying in the wind as she ran to the blanket. I pity her, sometimes, the fact that she still has ten years to live with this horrible falsity. I suppose that she's done better than my brothers, all of whom seem content with the mess-up we call family. At least she knows that Father is a pathetic excuse of a man, who tries too hard to gain affection from his children. She's bright enough to have learnt that you can use him and abuse him very easily. I sometimes wish that Mother would show a little more interest in her. Jules tries her hardest. If you look past the bratty stage she's going through, she yearns for Mother to hug her and kiss her more often than the once a day that she does. I noted the way she's cradling Jonathan like a baby in her arms and I saw how Jules was looking anywhere but there as she snuggled against Father, just for his warmth. The sky looked bleaker and bleaker above our heads. In the distance, I could see a boat on the loch, rowing back to shore. I sat down beside Stephen who was spread out across the blanket with a plate of food in front of him.

"You're going to get fat," I told him bluntly as he shovelled a third slice of Victoria sponge into his mouth. He glared at me and grinned, the cake smeared across his lips and teeth. "Wow. That is exactly what Hogwarts has been waiting for." He grunted through his mouthful and Father scolded him lightly. Stephen scowled at me, with eyes just like those of our sister, and turned back to his plate. In a few days time, he'd be going into his first year of Hogwarts, just as innocently as I had. He would never be put in Slytherin, though. He doesn't have a nasty bone in his body. He's a little gluttonous, but that's the only sin he could be accused of. He takes after Father, in that respect, both of the elder two do. It's only me and Jules who are more like Mother, and Johnny, who no-one can figure out.

After I gave up on trying to wind Stephen up, I fell backwards, lying down with my hands crossed across my flat stomach. I looked up to where the sun was straining, to no avail, to break through the clouds like a child fighting his older, stronger siblings. I let myself relax and thought about Juliana's question: 'Have you ever been in love?' It was a strange question for her to come out with, really. Love wasn't something that was spoken about in our family, not unless it was a very special occasion. Our parents didn't marry for love, Mother married for money, Father married because he thought it was the right thing to do. My mum had been introduced to him when she was thirteen and he a good thirteen years older than that. My father and my grandfather had sat down and in minutes, just like they were living in the 1800s, they had arranged for my mother to marry him when she turned eighteen, had she not found a suitable husband. My grandfather was determined to get all of his daughters married off into 'good' families: her eldest sister, Anna, married into the Goyle family, Aunt Elinor was betrothed to the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after the war, Jack Minchin, and Aunt Cassandra met a French pureblood who my grandfather greatly approved of. And so Mother agreed that she would not mind marrying who she perceived to be a handsome gentleman, and on her eighteenth birthday she and my father wed. Of course, what they hadn't planned for was for Mother to fall pregnant with me when she was barely nineteen. It's something I don't really think about a lot, but now I'm gaining on that age, I wonder how my mother must have felt. I may be mature for my age, but never in a million years would I feel ready to get married to anyone, let alone to someone almost twice my own age, or be ready to have a kid.

They hide it well, it must be said. Father worships my mother; he treats her like a goddess. Stephen believes that they fell involuntarily in love. I prefer to think that he's hiding something from us and Mother is blackmailing him into keeping it quiet. Of course, my much more optimistic siblings think them having 'alone time' is sweet, whilst me and Patrick (who is becoming much more cynical in his old age, like me) know that if we pressed our ears to the door, we'd hear noises that no child ever wants to hear from their parents' bedroom.

I opened my eyes slightly to look at them, intrigue getting the better of me. Jules was still huddled up against Father, who was engaging Stephen in conversation about some Potion book or another. Mother was holding Jonny tightly and scolding Patrick for apparently letting Juliana eat too many biscuits, whilst Ariella stared into space. I suppose it is normal, and to an outside eye, maybe it would seem like we all love each other.

I closed my eyes once more, wishing that my family would admit that perfection is not just a visual art. My mother's kind voice and my father's soothing gestures may look the part, but I know that he's just thinking about work tomorrow, and that Mother can't wait for me and the elder boys to leave so she gets a little piece and quiet. Patrick is dying to go back, and Stephen is itching to leave for the first time. Juliana can't wait to be the centre of Daddy's attention again, and Jonny's too little to know anything different, and as for me? Well, I don't know which is worse: a place where everything is so horribly false it makes me want to permanently cringe, or a place where everything I do means nothing? It doesn't mean much to me either way. At least I express my distaste for the whole situation, at least I don't pretend that everything is okay when it is clear that it isn't, at least I know that this family is not, has never been and will never be perfect, and that's all I can expect.

A/N: Okay, I've never done this before but since I've only had two reviews on this story (and this is possibly the best thing I've published on this site), if I don't get 100 hits (I'm currently on 46. It's pathetic) and another couple of decent reviews, it's coming down. I've got 34 reviews on the same story published on HPFF, and nearly 1000 hits.

Merritt – thank you so much for your reviews. They mean a lot. If (When) I do take this down, you can still find it on Harry Potter – I have the same username, and you can sign anonymous reviews there too.


	4. Chapter 3 Breathtaking

**Chapter 3: Breathtaking**

_August 31st 2019_

**Molly's POV**

The main disadvantage to living so far away from London is having to stay overnight at Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron's house in Berkshire. Not that I don't like staying with my aunt and uncle, it isn't that at all, but it's so much hassle to have to lug all our stuff into the car and travel down to Reading a day before everyone else has to leave home. Then we have to sleep on the floor in Rose's room, which means getting up with a stiff back and feeling horrible for the whole journey to school. This year, to add to the mayhem, is going to be Hugo's first year and I have never seen a child so excited to go to school in my life. As soon as we arrived, pulling into their drive, the extremely tall eleven-year-old flung himself out of the front door and into my mother's arms.

"I'm starting Hogwarts tomorrow, Auntie Audrey!" he yelled, as she kissed the top of his head. My father cringed slightly at the racket that emitted from my cousin's mouth and ruffled his hair affectionately as he passed him.

"I know, darling," Mum said, holding his hand and walking towards the front door, where Aunt Hermione was stood looking slightly ashamed of her son. Hugo grinned and ran past his mother gleefully as she stepped forwards to hug her sister-in-law.

Aunt Hermione is an odd one. I can never work out whether or not I like her. She's really nice, and she never shouts at us, but she's so bossy and sometimes I feel like I have to be careful not to say anything silly in case she goes into her patronising mode that I grew out of when I was six. She released my mother, the complete opposite to her in almost every way, and hugged my father.

Dad _loves _Aunt Hermione: I always wondered whether they'd ever have got together if Uncle Ron hadn't got there first. They're both so clever and they always have some intellectual discussion that Mum and Uncle Ron roll their eyes at.

I suppose you could split the kids up like that too, though. Rose is just like her mother, intellectually. When she was little, she was always the one who organised the games and told everyone who played which role. She looks like Uncle Ron, though: like Hugo, she's tall for her age, almost as tall as me and I'm two years older than her. She has bushy red hair and freckles and a fairly big nose for a girl. She and Lucy always have something to talk about: a new spell-book, animal rights, teachers, the list goes on.

Hugo, on the other hand, whilst the image of his mother, cannot hold a conversation about anything vaguely intellectual for longer than ten minutes. Like me, he gets bored by having to think too much. He's brighter than me, but not like Rose or Aunt Hermione. He's better than average and if he tried, I'm sure he'd probably exceed Rose. However, he's perfectly happy for her to have the spotlight and to instead hide behind pranks and jokes. Hugo and I always end up together on these days. There are the two lots of intellectual discussion, Mum and Uncle Ron moaning about their spouses and intelligent children, whilst we wander around the house playing games, dressing up and Merlin knows what else.

It took Aunt Hermione a few seconds to notice my make-over. She hugged Lucy tightly and told her she'd be staying on Rose's floor, as we already knew. I stepped forwards and my aunt did a double take. Then, she hugged me tightly and kissed my cheek. "You look wonderful, Molly," she told me, ruffling my hair. I must have cringed automatically because she laughed. "It looks fine, dear. Come on, come in," she ushered me inside quickly, and helped my dad to levitate the trunks inside.

I walked to the back of the house and started. Expecting to see no-one but my immediate family sat around the room, instead my eyes fell onto Uncle Harry and Auntie Ginny and their three children who were sat in the living room, alongside my family and Uncle Ron and his kids. I remembered with a jolt that Mum had mentioned that the Potters were also staying that night and going to London split between us and our hosts, after their car had broken down two days ago.

"Hey, Mol!" Uncle Ron said, spraying cake crumbs all over Lily who scrunched up her face and wiped her top. "Nice dress." At that comment, every eye in the room turned to me. James fell off the table he was perched on, Lily's eyes widened, Al choked on his cake and a dazed Uncle Harry hit him on the back, whilst still gazing at me. Rose was scrutinising my new dress and Hugo was looking up at me with his big blue eyes.

"Stop it, you're scaring the poor girl!" Aunt Ginny exclaimed, standing up from the sofa she was sharing with her brother and husband to hug me. "You look wonderful, Molly. Your mother's doing?" she looked accusingly at Mum, who shook her head defensively. Aunt Ginny's eyes widened.

"Twasvictwa," Hugo said through a mouthful of cake. At that moment, Aunt Hermione walked in, scolded him and Uncle Ron nodded in support of his wife. Hugo swallowed exaggeratedly and looked at his mother for approval. She rolled her eyes and gave him the nod to continue. "It was Victoire," he repeated, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jumper.

"Hugo!" his mother moaned, shaking her head. James snorted and received a glare from his own mother. "Was it really?" she asked, with a frown. "What on Earth came over her? Doing something for someone else? Well I never!" Everyone chuckled lightly, even Mum forced a smile. It was true. Victoire's act of selflessness had shocked me too, when I had initially asked her to take me to town. Aunt Hermione's fairly strong dislike of Aunt Fleur had also manifested itself when referring to her eldest niece, minutely less intelligent than her own daughter and a million times prettier.

"Yeah, she took me to London and we did some shopping and she took me to have my hair done," I explained. Aunt Hermione looked mildly impressed and after a few minutes more of trivial talk, the adults moved us 'children' upstairs to Rose's room.

We settled quietly into Rose's massive bedroom. You could fit all 12 of us grandchildren in there easily. Rose, Lily and I curled up on the bed, whilst the boys lay on the floor. Lucy sat on Rose's desk, her feet resting on the chair.

"So, do you think it looks okay?" Despite the many compliments I had received from my parents and others, I was still worried that I looked worse. Knowing that James and Hugo would be brutally honest with me, unlike their parents, who were all for making you feel better, I looked at them first.

"Tierney won't know what's hit him. Maybe the shock will kill him, solve our problem," James said with a wink. I glared at him and gave him the finger. My boyfriend is also Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, and he won the Quidditch Cup for his house last term in the final match against Gryffindor. James had spent the first three weeks of the summer trying to convince me to dump him, saying that family should come before boyfriends – a fair point that I do agree with, but when I'm not even in said house, I did not see any reason why I should have to dump my boyfriend. However, I have never told James that I went to the party in the Ravenclaw Common Room the night that they won to celebrate with Harrison. I think the news would actually kill him. I sigh, and thank him anyway, knowing that it was a compliment. I look to Hugo.

"You could be Dom's sister," he said with a shrug. I grin and jump off the bed to kiss his forehead. He pulled a face and wiped it with his other sleeve. Dominique, despite having hair colour identical to mine, still held the Veela beauty that her sister did. She looked more of a Weasley, yes, but still something seemed to attract men to her like a moth to a flame. Rose laughed lightly at her brother's expression of disgust, and for some reason, all of us began to giggle uncontrollably.

--

As per usual, the night was dreadful. On top of the uncomfortable floor and draught from the half-open window, Rose also snores. Loudly. So loudly that you can hear her from downstairs. I tossed and turned, and kicked Lucy one hell of a lot until she kicked me back so hard that I actually groaned. Lily was awake at six, bouncing off the walls as quietly as she could. I heard her skip out of the room, and listened to two sets of footsteps running down the stairs. When I said I'd never seen anyone as excited as Hugo, I lied. Lily has been counting down the days since Vic started school eight years ago, when she was a mere three years old. I cannot comprehend how excited they are. When I went, I couldn't wait to come home, to Nanna's cooking and my mum's hugs, as much as I loved my friends. Anyway, after ten minutes, I got up and sneaked past my sister, who was still flat out on the floor beside me. I grabbed my clothes and nipped into the bathroom.

Looking at myself in the mirror closely, I groaned. My hair was curling on one side, and the other was poker straight. My eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep and the bright light was making my eyes water like crazy. I pulled a brush through my hair impatiently, praying that it would straighten by itself. No such luck. Instead, it just kinked out. I sighed and stepped into the shower. I had washed my hair the morning before, but clearly it needed more. I borrowed Rose's shampoo, reminding myself to let her borrow mine some time, and scrubbed at my hair. I hopped out, quickly dried and dressed, and nipped downstairs.

Lily and Hugo were sat together on the sofa watching television, still in their pyjamas. Lily is obsessed with the telly, and since her parents won't have one in the house (I think it's mainly Uncle Harry's objection, since Auntie Ginny is always secretly glued to Eastenders whenever it's on in my house), she loves sitting and watching the piece of Muggle technology. At my footsteps, both of them started, the nerves already showing in their bright faces. I sat down next to Lily, who rested back against me and smiled up.

"Which house do you think I'll be in, Mols?" she asked me sweetly. I sighed and put my arm around her. It's one of those questions that I always get asked by my cousins and I hate it. Saying that, I remember asking Vic and Teddy the same question before I went up to Hogwarts too, so I shouldn't complain too much. This time, I have no idea. With James and Al, them being in Gryffindor was a given. Both of them are too lovely to be in Slytherin, not nice enough for Hufflepuff and nowhere near as intelligent as you need to be to be put in Ravenclaw, like Vic, Rose and Lucy. I sigh and think. Lily is adorable. To me, she's still the five-year-old that I used to babysit, not a school student. I picture her in two years time and wonder whether she'll be the same. Despite her cuteness and seemingly innocent nature, I will never deny that she's mischievous and extremely manipulative: she has every male in our family wrapped around her little finger. It's not even as if she's the youngest girl. I hate to say it, but whilst I think she belongs in Gryffindor, she could make a pretty decent Slytherin.

"I don't know, Lils," I replied, honestly. She pouted and I knew that lying would have been the better option in this scenario. "I'm going to say Gryffindor, though," I added swiftly, saving myself just in time. Hugo looked up at me sceptically. I frowned back down at him and he opened his mouth to say something. I glared at him, but he spoke anyway.

"What about me?" he asked, arms crossed. He, like me, has not yet lost all his baby weight. He has chubby cheeks that look odd alongside his tall and otherwise thin frame, and a mop of brown hair that managed to escape the curse of Aunt Hermione's curls. I didn't need to think about my response for him for very long.

"Gryffindor," I replied simply. I could hear footsteps upstairs again. It sounded like Lucy and Rose had emerged, because there was quiet chatter and if it had been the boys, they would certainly not have been being so subtle. I was right, of course, and the two crept inside minutes later, both dressed in conservative Muggle clothing.

"I like your jeans, Molly," Rose said politely, sitting on the floor in front of Lily's legs and pulling her blue skirt into place. I glanced down to check which pair I was actually wearing, my mind blanking for a second. A pair of tight-fitting boot cut jeans. My stripy pink slippers stuck out of the end of them: family houses being the only place I can wear pink without making other people cringe from the horrific clash with my hair.

"Thanks, Rosie," I replied just as politely as she had addressed me. She smiled, showing a row of perfectly straight white teeth, and Hugo pulled a tongue at the back of her head. His sister, like the majority of the family, had Weasley teeth. Poor Hugo, like his mother in so many ways, had inherited the dreadful screw-up that Aunt Hermione had suffered from. They crossed over this way and that, and were overly long at the front. His mother had promised to fix them at the end of his first year, providing he didn't tell his maternal grandparents, who wanted him to have them fixed the 'old fashioned way' that they claimed worked on their only daughter. I gave him a shove over Lily's head and he laughed, turning his attention back to the television.

--

Getting thirteen people ready in two hours was never going to be easy. My early shower proved extremely advantageous, as it meant my mother just had to whiz her wand over my hair to dry and straighten it, and I was done. I put my make-up on in the living room mirror, jabbing myself in the eye with the mascara brush only once. I borrowed some of Aunt Ginny's green eye-shadow to match my top and was done by quarter to eight, which meant I was roped in to helping my two aunts make breakfast.

It was madness. James was refusing to shower, saying that he'd had one the day before, whilst Al was arguing against that, saying that no such thing had happened. I think that Aunt Ginny, who was trying her hardest to cook bacon and scold her two sons, was on the brink of a nervous breakdown until Rose obediently fetched Uncle Harry to separate his children and physically put James in the shower if he had to. Hugo couldn't find a pair of matching socks, and ended up wearing one blue sock with an owl on and one orange one embroidered with the Chudley Cannons logo. Lily had spilt pumpkin juice on Lucy's top, so Mum had been searching through her trunk trying to find a new one that would still match her shoes whilst trying to help Dad find the glasses that he had misplaced. Aunt Hermione went ballistic when she shouted for Uncle Ron's help in finding Rose's wand and found him asleep in a chair in the dining room, and to top it off, my tabby cat, Daisy, had gone walkabouts and was eventually discovered curled up at the bottom of James' owl cage.

Somehow, everyone managed to eat something (although Hugo nearly ended up with just two slices of stale bread due to a mix-up with the plates, and it was only when Rose made a comment that we realised what had happened) and everyone got showered and dressed with relative ease. Dad, Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione went outside to modify the size of the cars on the inside, to allow the extra number of people, and start to pack them up, whilst the other parents did a check-list of things that we should have.

It was lucky they did too, since Hugo didn't have any of his Potions ingredients packed, Rose's tie had been lost under her bed and Al's broom had been hidden by an unknown suspect (most probably James, after the shower incident). Uncle Harry was about to let Lily leave without brushing her hair, which Mum quickly sorted out with a couple of flicks of her wand, and Uncle Ron nearly fell asleep again, before Uncle Harry kicked him and started him awake. Once all the cars were packed, we split up into the two vehicles: Aunt Ginny, James and Lily in our car, and Uncle Harry and Al in the other. A wise move by the Potters, since every year since Teddy started school, I had heard stories about what the boys had done to each other in the back of the car, often very surprising and ever so slightly disturbing.

--

It took forever to get to London this year. There was crash after crash on the motorway, the traffic was backed up in the city itself, and we thought we may have to run for it at one point. Lily started crying because she thought she'd be late, and James was telling her horror stories about what they do to latecomers to the Sorting ceremony. He soon shut up after Aunt Ginny threatened him with the exact same actions he was coming up with (and she very cleverly added castration to the list, which made him gulp loudly). Nevertheless, we got to the platform with ten minutes to spare. The six adults hauled our stuff onto the train and we said our goodbyes quickly. I clambered on board with the goal of hunting down my boyfriend and then my best friends. I watched Lily and Hugo, evidently terrified now that they were actually on the train, tag along behind James, who had located Dominique and Evie, who were hunting down a carriage at the opposite side of the train. Rose and Al had found their friends relatively easily, and Lucy was waiting patiently at the doorway to wave goodbye to our parents. I continued to walk, checking in and out of compartments until I saw the flash of blue that gave away the location of one of my best friends, Max Monroe, and thus the other two as well.

I opened the door and was bombarded by hugs and kisses from my three best friends. Max, whose streak of blue down the left side of his honey blond fringe had been his give away, grabbed my hand and pulled me down next to him. As gay as the day is long, Max is by far the only person I would tell everything to, and that is including Harrison and my cousins.

"What have you done to yourself, Mol?" he asked in his soft Irish tone, taking my hand and examining the French manicure that my mother had attempted last night. I looked down at myself, from my Mary-Jane's to my low-cut top, I would admit that everything about me was different, but not enough to sound as confused and freaked out as he did.

"I let Victoire take me shopping," I said, removing my hand from his and crossing my arms across my chest protectively. I gently touched my hair, perfectly straightened and held back from my face with a thick white head band. "Why, do you not like it?" I looked to my other two best friends, Anna Durand and Nina Watkiss. They looked at each other, blue eyes meeting chocolate brown and glanced back to me.

"You look amazing, Mol," Anna assured me, reaching over and squeezing my denim-clad knee. I looked to Nina, who nodded too, then to Max who grinned and pulled me across so I was under his arm. I tucked my feet up onto the seat beside me and smiled back. "Harrison won't know what's hit him," she added with a wink. Considering she's never really spoken to James, only nearly killed him with a Bludger a couple of times, they are scarily similar. I would never tell her that, or him, or I'd have to go into hiding. They actually detest each other – I can't remember exactly why, but I'm fairly sure it's something to do with Anna's younger sister, Claire, and my selfish cousin ignoring her after a snogging session in the Charms classroom a couple of years ago.

The train began to pull out of the station, and we all jumped up to press our faces to the window. All of my family were squeezed together, a flame of red burning over a sea of waving handkerchiefs and pale faces that began to lose their features as we travelled further and further away. When the red disappeared, blurring into the background we sat back down.

"Where is Harrison, anyway?" I asked, noticing properly for the first time that he wasn't there. Nina and Max frowned at each other from where they were sat. My heart sank for a second. "What? Have I missed something?"

"Did you not get his letter?" Anna asked concernedly. I looked at her long dark hair, hiding her left eye from view. I remembered with a jolt about the letter that had gone up in flames a few nights before.

"I....It's a long story. I didn't read it," I muttered, cursing my idiocy. A million things raced through my mind: maybe he'd left? Maybe he'd left _me. _Maybe he'd died. At the last one, I snapped out of my daydream. If he was dead, I'd definitely have heard and _he _wouldn't have written the letter. If he'd left me, then why would Anna have said that I'd shock him? "What did it say?" I could hear the fear in my voice and Max squeezed my shoulders.

"It's nothing to worry about, Molly," Nina said comfortingly. "His gran passed away on the twenty-eighth and he's going to be off for a couple of days to spend it with his family." I couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief. My friends weren't at all unperturbed by my noise, and I shook my head at my own stupidity.

"I'm just going to see if I can find Mia," I said, ducking out of Max's embrace and brushing the creases out of my top. Mia Davenport is Harrison's best friend. They've known each other since the first train ride here, and I knew that she probably received a letter identical to mine, unlike the others, who weren't overly close to my boyfriend. The other three chorused mismatched responses and I stood up to slide the door open. I missed the handle as someone from the other side got there first. Expecting a couple of terrified first-years, or maybe some of our relatives, I was stunned to see a tall boy, with jet black hair and pale skin staring down at me. I felt my breath catch in my throat at his gaze, focused as brightly on me as mine must have been on him. I must have seen him before, in passing, but if I had, I'd never paid him attention, and would never be able to find a name to put to his face. He opened his mouth, his pale lips parting slowly. He spoke just as I imagined.

"Have you room for us?" he asked in a slow voice. It wasn't a deep tone and nor was it too feminine, but just right for a boy, a man, of school age. Words escaped me for a moment, and I realised he was addressing me. I stepped to the side, still unable to put my brain into gear. He sat down in the seat I had previously taken, and his friend, a stocky, tall girl with a brutish face but brilliant blue eyes that sparkled brightly, sat beside Anna, who moved a little closer to Nina. I ducked my head, not wanting to be caught staring at this guy like a moron and started to edge out of the door. "Are you leaving?" the boy asked, sounding intrigued. I looked up at him again and swallowed deeply. My mouth felt dry but I managed to stammer -

"I'll be back in a bit," in a horribly squeaky tone. He smiled and leant back, nodding in approval. I went to walk out of the compartment for the third time, but seemed to gain back a little of my usual confidence. I turned around to meet his gaze again. "I'm Molly, by the way. Molly Weasley." I saw Max raise his eyebrows a little bit from the corner of my eye but I ignored the gesture. I would bring it up with him later.

The new addition nodded slowly and held out his hand. It took me a second to understand what he was getting at and when it hit me, I extended mine for him to shake. As they came into contact, I felt my whole body shaking. My stomach turned upside down and as he released my hand, I yearned for him to take it back, the warmth that radiated from him a comfort, though for what purpose it was comforting, I didn't know.

"Enchanté, Molly," he drawled. I could have melted on the spot. I could feel the Weasley blush creeping under my cheeks and I stepped back again so it may not be so obvious. I smiled shyly and turned my back. "Molly?" I turned back once more, not at all as annoyed as I should have been. "I'm Seb. Seb Becker." I nodded and smiled meekly, before stepping out into the corridor and shutting the door behind me. I stepped to the left, out of view and gasped for breath. I steadied and calmed myself, waiting for my cheeks to cool, and began to walk down to the front of the train when it hit me that I could not remember for the life of me why I had wanted to leave. Instead, I walked for a little bit until I found a compartment full of my cousins and sat with them, trying to find the right moment to ask who on Earth this Seb Becker was and why I'd never paid him much attention in the past.


	5. Chapter 4 That Girl

**Chapter 4 – That Girl**

_1st September 2019: Seb_

When the redhead left the compartment, I finally felt like I could breathe again. I could see her friends, as yet not introduced to me, sharing confused and annoyed glances with each other. Dana kicked me across the compartment and raised her eyebrows. I knew what she was getting at. I never spoke to strangers, ever. I rarely spoke to Dana so freely, let alone some sixth-year who I'd never met before. I don't know what came over me. Looking at her, that Weasley girl, had made my heart leap into my mouth. It had made my stomach flip upside down; it had made me want to grin endlessly. I shook my head, feeling my hair fall into my eyes. Dana sighed audibly, attracting the attention of Molly's friends.

"She has a boyfriend, you know," the guy said. I looked slowly across to where he sat beside me. I raised my own eyebrows at this. It wasn't so much what he said but how he said it. His blond hair had a bright blue streak through the fringe and he was skinnier than Adam. I looked down at him, trying to be as condescending as possible.

"That's nice for her," I drawled as slowly as I could. I glanced from his checked shirt to battered Muggle trainers, then back up to his face. His nose was sharp and his eyes a bit too close together, "but I don't see why Molly's relationship status should affect me." If I wanted her, I would get her, regardless of whether or not she had a boyfriend. The boy looked slightly taken aback by my comment and I cocked my head to the side, wordlessly willing him to continue. His lips formed a tight line and he turned his head to look out of the window. I turned to the two girls, both of whom were staring at me. "Problem?" In perfect unison they shook their heads. The chubbier girl, with brown curls, moved a little closer to the girl who resembled a mouse and they both followed the boy's gaze out of the window. I knew they were in fact looking at my reflection and had the urge to pull a grotesque face at them but resisted the immature action extremely easily. "What time is Adam finishing up?" I politely asked Dana, in reference to her boyfriend, the seventh year Prefect for our house. She checked her watch.

"Twenty minutes or so," she replied. I nodded slowly, breathing in my surroundings. The girls were sat in silence, stony glares aimed at my knees. The boy had his arms crossed tightly, glaring at me in ten second intervals. I pulled a book out of my bag and began to read it. I could sense three pairs of eyes on me but was determined not to give up and give in. After a few minutes, they ceased yet the carriage was still silent. Occasionally, I sensed a gaze on me as the girls pored over a copy of _Witch Weekly _or as the guy picked at a piece of fluff on his jeans. I wished I was as skilled at Legilimency as my grandmother. I would love to hear their thoughts. Instead of risking it, I turned the page in my book, praying the next twenty minutes would go faster.

I finished the book in ten minutes. Dana was playing with the sleeve of her shirt, and nibbling on a biscuit. I put my book back into my bag and stood up. Dana looked at me both questioningly and threateningly. I stretched my arms, feeling my muscles tauten underneath my shirt. I relaxed with a small groan and shook my head so my hair fell in my eyes.

"I'm dying for a fag," I murmured, quietly enough that only she would hear, and reaching into the pocket of my jeans. It was true. I'd gone forever without smoking – my father gave up trying to get me to stop years ago, and as long as I don't do it in front of my younger siblings, he doesn't care anymore. Dana sighed and waved me outside. She hates my habit as much as my father. For someone who has no problem in having extremely loud sex in the bed next to mine, she's shockingly prudish about things like smoking. I shrugged and wandered into the corridor.

As every year, it was heaving out there. Children were running up and down the passageway, bumping off others to slow themselves down. I was planning on hanging out of a window on the corridor with my cigarette but seeing the chaos, I changed my mind and headed down to the other end of the train to where I hoped I'd find some younger kids to force to leave their carriage. Finding it unbearably claustrophobic, I walked quickly, twice the pace of the third-year beside me who was running from his friend…or a bully; it didn't make a difference to me.

I think it was my speed that caused it. I was so desperate to get away from the small children that I nearly knocked over someone as they backed out of a compartment. Whoever it was only came up to my chest and I grabbed their arm before they could fall back any further. It took me a second to recognise her, but in my hand I was holding the forearm of Molly Weasley, the very girl who had made my heart beat twice as fast as a human's should. As soon as she was steady on her feet, I let go, feeling the electricity charge up and down my arm like there were fairies in my blood stream, tickling my insides. She blushed that brilliant crimson colour again and stepped to the side of me, trying to get past. I grabbed her arm again, not tight enough to hurt her but with enough force for it to be evident that I wanted her to stay with me.

"Molly." Her name rolled off my tongue so sweetly and so naturally that it shocked me. My throat, painfully dry, closed up. I felt that uncontrollable urge to smile again as she stopped opposite me, the two of us forming a wall against the crowds of people. We were almost touching, until she turned and pressed her back to the window. She seemed to glance across to my right, looking through the door of the compartment beside me and then she visibly relaxed.

"Yes?" She sounded so cool and confident. Her blush had died down and she pushed a lock of short, red hair out of her eyes. I thought I caught her hand shaking, but as it dropped to her side, I knew I must have imagined it. She looked up at me expectantly and I realised that I was now meant to say something. I could have kicked myself. I was always prepared, always. I heard myself give a light chuckle at my own stupidity. I let go of her arm, realising I was still holding it quite tightly. I nervously rubbed my chin, feeling the rough stubble graze my fingers. She looked at me bemusedly, her brown eyes dancing, her gaze tickling my skin. I shook my head letting my hair fall into my eyes. She continued to stare at me enchantingly. My mind went blank. I had no idea what to say, what kind of lie to spin.

"I didn't think about what I was going to say after 'Molly'," I admitted. I felt my mouth contort into the smile that I'd been working so hard against showing and cursed myself. She smiled sweetly back up at me and her lips parted as if to speak, but I got there first with the question that had been bugging me since I laid eyes on her for the first time. "Why haven't I seen you before?" She frowned, her forehead creasing and eyes searching my face quickly. She seemed to go into a daze for a second. "Molly, are you okay?" I had no idea where this compassion, usually reserved only for Jules and Ariella, had come from. "If it's a difficult question, you don't need to answer it." Being a Weasley meant she was bound to be magical, and equally bound to be a Gryffindor. Maybe she was a distant relative of those idiots in fifth-year, not one of the Prewett-Weasleys like they were. All these things crossed my mind. What if she had problems? She could have been home-schooled, gone to another Wizarding academy? The list went on. I looked at her, searching for an answer, any clue in her face. She shook her head.

"Sorry. I'm…" she started. As she did so, two Hufflepuffs ran past, shouting and screaming. One stood on my foot and I glared after him, resisting the urge to swear loudly. She stopped and took a breath, along with an apologetic smile. "It's just that I was going to ask you the same thing." My smile came again. I wished I had more control over this involuntary reaction every time she so much as glanced at me.  
"I…I suppose my response is that I didn't exactly look like this –" she stopped midway to gesture at herself. It was true, she did look amazing. As well as her short, poker-straight red hair that brushed her pale chin, her clothes hugged her slim figure perfectly too. The dark green complimented her skin tone, and brought out the freckles dashed across her slightly chubby cheeks, "- you know, decent, last year." She was stumbling a bit now, losing the confidence that she'd initially begun with. She softly cleared her throat and started to tell me briefly how her cousin had taken her into Muggle London to change her look. I noted that she was careful not to mention how she had looked before, and wondered whether she thought I was that shallow. At the mention of her cousin, the eldest of the Weasleys and giving me the hint that she certainly was Prewett-Weasley spawn, I came over all funny. As little as I knew about other people in the school, Victoire Weasley was one girl that no-one could not know. She was tall, skinny and beautiful, in an extremely stereotypical way, yet the strength of the Veela gene in her, no matter how small the percentage, made every boy in the school turn to jelly at her feet, and although I hate to admit it, I am included in that majority. Molly scowled a little, her brow furrowing and she seemed to be thinking of something to change my dreamy expression. I snapped out of the memory as quickly as I'd fallen into it and coughed.

"She's with that Lupin guy now, isn't she? Victoire?" I threw in as nonchalantly as I could. Molly relaxed a little and nodded. I began to nervously play with the ring I got from my grandmother for my seventeenth birthday: a family heirloom, priceless. Again, she seemed to be having a mental debate before speaking, her eyes flickering, not knowing where to look.

"So do I get to hear why I've never seen you around?" She smiled once more, and I cursed her internally. She was obviously intrigued, as she looked up at me from under her eyelashes, playing with my emotions. I'd hoped that talk of herself would distract her, as with most girls, but no: this one was genuinely interested in me. I racked my brains thoroughly. Tell a lie or face the truth? Old me versus new me. It was difficult; I hadn't even decided when my mouth started to spew out the Merlin's honest truth.

"I'm a bit of a loner, really. I keep myself to myself," the new 'honest' me began. I could feel the old me pressing down, smothering the new figure, trying to keep the information to a minimum. "I'm not totally friendless, obviously." I was making reference to Dana, who would now be entwined in Adam's arms. I suppose to an outsider, they'd seem like my friends and it was best to keep that façade rather than admit that I couldn't tell you their middle names or their mothers' jobs. "I go to my lessons, I eat dinner, and I sit in my Common Room. That's it really." That was all she needed to know. The lies and deceit had managed to seal the honest part of me up in a box and shut the lid firmly.

"Quidditch?" she asked, slightly surprised. I suppose that coming from a family that spawned generations of good Quidditch players, it was hardly surprising. I shook my head and knew that my face had contorted into a look of disgust. She dropped her gaze from me. "Fair enough." She glanced at her wrist, her watch-less wrist, I might add. "I should get back. Max'll get worried." She seemed to shrink, looking almost scared of me: the way I like it. I nodded at her.

"I'll be back in a minute." I was dying for this cigarette now, and began to hurry off. If I turned around, just for one last look, it could give it all away. Some sixth-year idiot backed out of a carriage and I narrowly missed bumping into him and sending him flying. His friends blocked the corridor behind me and I took the opportunity to glance back swiftly. I could see the flame of red hair dancing down the corridor, away from me, back towards her friends. My heart relaxed again. My lungs were screaming for the smoke. I glanced to my left, saw my younger brother's compartment and dived inside.

--

"Tell Mother about this and I'll make sure you never talk again," I spat at him, hopping up onto the seat, narrowly avoiding stepping on the hand of another first-year. I pulled from my coat a packet of cigarettes, opened the window enough for me to stick my hand out and took one from the packet. Stephen's friends seemed taken aback by my actions but a snarling lip took their attention away. I lit it with my wand and inhaled deeply, instant relaxation. I leant back against the side of the compartment. My knees were crouched: I wasn't tall enough to lean out of the window without standing on something, but if I stood up straight here, I'd go through the ceiling. With my free hand, I pushed my hair back from my eyes and scrutinised the four people my brother had befriended. There was a girl looking terrified, with dark hair cut into a bob and a pair of thick, round glasses on her nose. Beside her sat a boy with curly brown hair and crooked teeth. He was staring up at me half in shock and half in awe. Either side of my brother was another girl, this time with long, red hair, and a podgy blond boy. I yearned to make a comment about his size but to upset him would be to upset Stephen, and that would mean an owl straight home to tell my parents that I'd been smoking out of the train in a compartment of eleven-year-olds. I took another drag.

"How far away are we?" Stephen asked, looking up at me, torn between curiosity and disgust. I checked my watch swiftly, bringing in the smoking tobacco. The girl beside my brother coughed dramatically. She was at my feet. A sly kick would seem accidental, totally without malice, but nonetheless, I thought better of it. She realised quickly that the cigarette had been modified to allow the smoke to smell not of strong tobacco but of cherries, and stopped her act with an apologetic smile. I took my gaze from her with a shake of my head, and lay it on my brother, who shrunk against the seat. He held my glare, but his shaking hand told me I was making him uncomfortable. The podgy boy coughed and I broke my stare.

"You've got hours yet," I muttered, feeling the smoke cover my throat, letting my voice become as raspy as ever. I tapped the ash out of the window. "Someone will come by and tell you to get changed." All of our family, except my grandmother, wear Muggle clothing during the day. It's much more comfortable and in the insane heat that we had over summer, it was more practical than the robes. I took one last drag and threw the cigarette from the window, watching as it somersaulted through the air. I exhaled, covering each child in the cherry fumes, and hopped off the seat, landing so softly that I barely made a noise. "Later, kid." I gave my brother a shove on his shoulder and left in a breeze.

I didn't have much choice but to return to the compartment I was in before. Knowing that I'd be alone with Molly and her idiotic friends, I hung around outside for a second, trying to get a gist of the conversation.

"…defending a guy you've known for all of five minutes, Molly," the boy was saying, clearly trying to sound rational but spite filled his voice. "Like Nina said, he may be easy on the eye, very easy on the eye," he added dreamily. I felt sick for a second at the thought of that _child _leering at me, imagining what he'd like to do to me, "but there is no way on God's Earth that we wouldn't have seen him before." Molly was silent. It was though she knew he was right but didn't want to admit it. They were telling her to stay away, to be wary of me. They were denying her of her own happiness. There was another second silence before -

"Fine. Whatever." Her response was barely audible from through the glass door. The silence cloaked them once again: my cue to enter.

I took a deep breath, ran a hand through my hair, ruffling it up, and drew open the door as slowly as possible. I stepped inside slowly, carefully, so that only my foot was visible to Molly and her male friend. The two girls scowled at me from their side and I glared back. I stepped fully inside to see the object of my affections trapped between the boy and the window, twisting a piece of her hair into a plait. She looked up under her eyes and, seeing it was not one of her cousins or friends but me, the guy she had shown fear of not ten minutes before, she smiled. I resisted the need to smile back, instead thinking of the boy's disgusting assessment of my appearance, which I hoped would give me a look of utter repulsion upon my face. I was obviously right because her smile dropped and she sat back in her seat. Feeling a little bad for making it seem like I didn't care, I sat down beside the girls this time so I was facing her male friend, who made no sign that he was going to move up to give Molly some air. She stared out of the window, pouting slightly. I waited for her gaze to switch, for her eyes to glance over mine, for her to understand that I didn't mean it. I opened my mouth a little, the unspoken words jarred in my mouth and I shut it quickly. I wasn't going to be broken by this girl, this young girl. She was nothing, in all reality. She was just another passing fancy, just as her cousin had been before her.

"So…" the boy said, his voice cracking a little in nervousness, "did you have a good summer?" It took me a second to realise it was not his friends he was talking to, but me. Taken aback by his show of friendliness, both Molly and I looked up at him quizzically. "Just being polite!" he protested when Molly shot him a glare. She glanced at me, at last: 'passing fancy' my arse. At her gaze, looking at me expectantly and waiting patiently for a response, my heart raced on. It made no sense.

"It wasn't too bad, thank you," I spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to keep my indifference to his question suppressed. "Yours?" He seemed more taken aback by the question than I had been by his. He stammered some clap trap about a holiday to Kenya and quietened. Molly seemed mildly impressed by the conversation, no matter how trivial and forced it was. I cleared my own throat. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your names." I looked to the girls first; the one nearest to me flinched. The darker haired one poked her much less attractive friend who stuttered a little.

"Rainen," she murmured so quietly that I barely caught it. I looked to her friend to translate the word.

"Rhiannon," the girl replied to the unspoken question. "But she prefers Nina, don't you?" It was like she was talking to a child. The chubby girl nodded, curls bouncing on her shoulders. "I'm Anna. That's Max," she pointed to the boy who gave me one, curt nod. I imitated him, "and you know Molly." The seemingly most confident of the four pointed to the redhead who blushed again. I felt one side of my mouth turn up and fought to bring it back down.

"Nice to meet you." It was such a lie, such a generic response. It meant nothing to me, though they all seemed to take it as being the truth. I glanced to my watch. I'd only returned fifteen minutes before but it felt like an hour. I excused myself, claiming I was going to visit my brother and left. I considered hanging around outside the door for a second, just to hear the conversation, but thought better of it and wandered down to the front of the train to separate Dana and Adam and to continue with more forced conversation and fake smiles.

* * *

**A/N: I adore Seb. This is one of my favourite chapters too. Review and I shall send you biscuits :)**


	6. Chapter 5 Crash

**Chapter 5 – Crash**

_September 1st 2019: Molly_

As soon as Seb left the carriage, Max moved away from where he'd had me trapped between the window and his left leg. I scowled at him, rubbing my left thigh which had gone numb from the pressure of my skin against the wall. He smiled at me, trying to look apologetic, but failed miserably, his gloating grin glowing under his crooked smile.

"What are you smirking at?"

It came out a little harsher than I'd hoped and my best friend seemed a little shocked at the tone of my voice. He opened his mouth like a fish before deciding that shutting it would probably be the best option.

"I told you he was nice, didn't I? I said that Slytherins aren't all evil but did you listen? Of course you didn't."

I felt a bit like a mother, scolding her children for jumping on the beds and hurting themselves. All three of them looked to the floor, the same spot where Seb's shoes had left a small imprint of mud as he left. I sighed and pulled my feet up to tuck them underneath my body, creating a small barrier between me and Max.

"So, come on then. What was the smirk for?" I stared at him as harshly as I could, trying to imitate Aunt Ginny's 'death glare', as Al and Lily called it. He held my gaze for a few seconds before looking down to the fabric of the seat. He turned so he was facing me, and wrapped his arms around his knees which he had pulled up to his chest before resting his chin on his arm.

"You're reading too much into it. He doesn't _like _you, Mol," he began, his voice softer than usual, the comments only for my ears. He sounded so condescending that I'm fairly sure that the death glare stayed glued to my face. I knew he didn't mean to sound so rude, he was too wholly nice to ever be like that, but it still hurt. "He looked like we were something from under his shoe. He just wants to get you into bed, Molly."

The mere suggestion made me feel ill and I let a disbelieving gasp escape me. I was speechless at this stupid attack on a guy they'd known for barely an hour. I struggled with words for a moment before untucking my feet and crossing my legs instead, my arms imitating the action.

"You are being ridiculous, Max," I snapped. He looked at me totally unapologetically and shared a look with Anna, who shrugged. "You can pack it in as well," I told her with a glare.

Both of these supposed best friends had no idea what they were talking about. It was like they thought I was suddenly going to drop them and turn into a Slytherin, or dump Harrison for this stranger. Chances were that I was never going to see him again after today, so why were they making such a big fuss? I told them that and they all looked a little ashamed of themselves. Satisfied, I pulled out my mother's copy of 'A Picture of Dorian Gray' and began to read in silence, ignoring any looks my friends cast at each other or me.

The train journey seemed to last forever, each hour passing more painstakingly slowly than the previous. I finished my book with around an hour and a half to go of the journey. Anna had fallen asleep against Nina's shoulder; the latter was looking decidedly uncomfortable with the position. Max was staring menacingly at a tear in his jeans as though doing so would patch it up. I slipped my book into my bag.

"How was Mia?" Nina whispered across the compartment, worried that she'd wake Anna up if she spoke any louder. I frowned at her. How would I know how Mia was? I'd not seen her since the middle of August. She looked to Max with a pointed look that matched my own confusion.

"You left to see Mia just before the Slytherin sex god turned up," he continued for her at the same time that I remembered why I'd left.

I stammered for a second and then said nothing. Tactfully, for once, the others didn't let anything escape their mouths either, and nor did they exchange disapproving glances.

"Harrison's fine, Mol," Max said after a few minutes' pause. I looked to him gratefully. "He'll be back before you know it. He'll understand."

I knew what he was getting at, but I still felt insanely guilty that my preoccupation with myself had meant that my boyfriend was alone at a time like this, not even a letter of comfort from his girlfriend. His grandmother was a lovely woman, eighty-three and losing it a little but she liked me and the feeling was mutual. I was curious to know the details that I knew my letter would have held. A few days and he'd be back, and I could apologise in person and find out everything as I let him cry on my shoulder.

"We should get changed." Anna's voice shocked all of us, as she eased her head from Nina's shoulder and rubbed her neck with a groan of fatigue. We all nodded and pulled our robes over our heads. My mind flitted back to Seb Becker, the way he'd scanned my clothes approvingly. It should have made me feel self-conscious and exposed, but instead I felt nervous and a little pleased that I'd gained that attention from someone as attractive as him. My daydream must have been obvious because as I snapped out of it, the others were all staring at me, their faces a mixture of concern and distaste.

"Sorry," I said, meaning it for everything. They knew that and all murmured 'It's okay' or, 'No problem.' I felt better, knowing that they were there, and when Max's arm snaked around my shoulders again, and I leant into the embrace, I felt at home once more.

--

The train pulled to a halt with the four of us back to normal. I saw the flash of red that belonged to Mia gathering the younger students to send them on to the boats with Hagrid, who was also bellowing, as usual, from the other end of the platform. We weaved in and out of the smaller pupils, and I spotted my two cousins talking animatedly to the half-giant. We grabbed a carriage and piled in.

The ride was bumpy and my stomach growled angrily. I clutched it tightly, trying to shut it up, sure that it was louder than the wheels of the compartment hitting the potholes in the track up to the front of the school. We clambered out and into the warmth of the castle. I couldn't help but smile as the elegance of the building once again took my breath away.

I knew that when my parents made the journey to the school for the anniversary of the battle, they said it wasn't the same, that it had lost a little of its magic but, to me, the place was perfect. We said goodbye to Nina, who headed over to the Ravenclaw table, and Max escorted me and Anna down the aisle between the two benches. I couldn't help but note that he'd chosen to seat us with our backs to the Slytherin table and I scowled a little at his immaturity.

We chatted for a while to those classmates we hadn't seen, smiling and laughing. The remaining teachers came in, Hagrid included with a big smile on his face. The Headmaster called for silence as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. Professor Elkins, the Charms teacher, walked in, the forty or so eleven-year-olds following him with frightened and awe filled expressions on their faces. I saw my cousins, less impressed than some other students but nonetheless extremely happy, at the front of the line. They all lined up neatly at the front.

I cast a glance to the Gryffindor table where James and Al were sat, eagerly awaiting their sister's sorting. I turned around a little to see Rose, who was sat at the end of the Ravenclaw table, just as full of anticipation as her closest cousins. She caught my eye and smiled broadly as the deputy head teacher emerged with the famous three-legged school and the ragged old hat. I grinned back and my eyes, totally coincidentally, fell on someone sat just behind her. He too was facing me, looking straight at me, his eyes burning into my gaze. I shuddered and turned back around before he could enchant me again with the smirk that pulled at his lips and his eyelashes that he looked up under with round eyes. My heart was beating twice as fast as normal and I became more conscious about whether or not people would notice. My reverie was broken by a loud applause that signalled the end of the Hat's song, then, "Arkwright, Jessica," was called up to the stool and my heart settled back down to its normal pace.

Well, it did for a whole eighty-eight seconds, because after the Arkwright girl and a boy called Banbury were both sorted into Gryffindor, Elkins announced that, "Becker, Stephen," should take his place under the Sorting Hat. My head swivelled to cast a look to Seb once again. He wasn't looking at me anymore but was instead focused solely on the tall blond boy who was sitting upon the stool. The Hat took thirty-four seconds exactly to decide and yelled, "HUFFLEPUFF!" at the top of its lungs. The applause burst from around me, an explosive noise as the child smiled the same smile as his brother and ran down to sit along the opposite bench to me. He cast a happy look up the table, trying to drink in everyone's faces, the whole atmosphere, just as I remember doing on my first day. I tried to catch his eye, but he'd refocused his attention on the front of the Hall and, admitting defeat, I imitated him.

I cursed how slowly the Sorting was moving. There seemed to be a good dozen more children than in my year, and it felt like it too. I sat up straight when they eventually reached, "Potter, Lily," who, without the hat even touching her red hair, was put straight into Gryffindor with her brothers. I watched Hugo look dejected at the front, the fear of being separated from his best friend hurting him like crazy. I saw Seb's brother clapping wildly for Lily's Sorting and began to wonder: surely my cousins couldn't have shared their train journey with him? They couldn't have befriended him, the coincidence was too much.

"Weasley, Hugo."

My head snapped up again, and watched Hugo shakily walk to the stool and sit down. It took decidedly longer than it had for Lily, and I watched my cousin's eyes flicker from the Ravenclaw table, where Rose was sat anxiously, to the Gryffindor table, where Lily was almost out of her seat with excitement. His eyes fell on me for a second and I smiled comfortingly, before he sent a panicked look to the opposite end of the Hall – Slytherin, a fate he feared more than Al had when he came to be Sorted. He looked back to his sister as the hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!"

I breathed a sigh of relief and clapped as loudly as my cousins and friends as I watched little Hugo dismount the chair and run to sit beside Lily. I watched James give him a thumbs up from the middle of the table, and Al grin ecstatically. My eyes fell back on the Becker boy, who was clapping enthusiastically once more. I had the urge to turn around, one last look at his brother, but resisted. I waited for, "Wimple, Gretl," to be Sorted, and when she was sent to our table, I noted that Stephen's applause was much less pronounced. I couldn't resist a smile. It couldn't have been more perfect if I'd tried.

The feast was enormous, as usual. I ate until I felt like I'd be sick by just standing up. I scraped the bottom of the bowl for any remains of the apple crumble I'd just demolished and pushed my bowl away in defeat. I watched Max shovel another helping of chocolate fudge cake onto his plate and I had to look away for fear of vomiting over him. Anna was trying to eat profiteroles carefully and failing miserably. I giggled and she cast me an annoyed but nonetheless amused look at me. I looked up to the staff table. The headmistress was talking merrily to the deputy head, Professor Sinistra, who had been teaching when my parents were at school. Sinistra cast a look at her watch and pointed to the podium. The headmistress nodded and rose. She glided like a swan to the podium where she looked down at us and quiet fell over the room like a cloak.

"Welcome, one and all, or welcome back, as the case may be." Professor Graves beamed down at us, her red hair curling down her back. She looked up and down each table and seemed to drink in every person, her calm smile making me seem at ease. "First things first, some staffing changes. We welcome Madam Liliana Dubreuil as matron, as Madam Crook has left us to rejoin Saint Mungos in a higher capacity."

There was a loud round of applause as a young, blonde woman with a sharp nose and arched eyebrows rose and smiled widely at us. I was rather pleased by this news. I'd taken several students up to see Madam Crook when they'd been ill and she had been most irritated to have to treat every single one of them.

"We also welcome Professor Anila Dhaliwal back to us as Transfiguration professor." The headmistress turned to signal for Professor Dhaliwal to stand. A young Indian woman with black hair tied up in a bun rose and smiled. "For those of you who remember, Professor Dhaliwal taught temporarily a number of years ago after the departure of Professor McGonagall, and we welcome her back after her break for research to teach Transfiguration once again."

The steady round of applause went around again and the new teacher blushed and sat back down. Professor Graves listed the rules of the school once again, informing us of how Mr Furmage had been most upset at the mess left by the Weasley Wizard Wheezes fireworks set off at the end of last term and reminded us that the use of the products was banned inside the school. I saw James give Dominique, who was sat with her back to me, a gleeful look before swiftly turning his head back to the front, as if nothing had happened.

"Our Head Boy and Girl this year are Flora Hodges of Hufflepuff and Edward Dillonsby of Ravenclaw," she added, making the two nominees stand up. They blushed and sat back down the instant the raucous applause stopped. "Now, if the Prefects and Head Students could please guide the first-years to their common room, you are free to leave."

There was an almighty bang as the benches were pushed backwards and people scrambled to get out before the onslaught of first-years drowned them. I hung back a little, as usual, to find any waifs and strays that would be left behind. I prayed that the little Becker boy would be lost, but with a quick glance, I saw him right behind our Prefect, Eric, and sighed. I grabbed Anna's hand and we made our way out into the mass of bodies in the Entrance Hall. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors fought their way up the marble staircase and we ducked and dived through the mass of Slytherins and Hufflepuffs that had opted to congregate out there, partly due to an unwillingness to go to bed, but also to irritate the other houses. I heard a shout of –

"Come on guys! Move along please!" from one of the teachers inside, and there was a surge of people as they fought their way across the hall. Eventually, we saw the staircase down to our common room and we made a dive for it. The stream of people wasn't too heavy as we descended to the lower floor. I heard the exclamations of surprise and amazement as we passed talking paintings or statues that weren't there last year. The flow into the common room was steady, not allowing the portrait to close even for a second.

Most students had headed up to their dorms: a chance to collapse onto their beds and gossip about everything that had happened over summer. We were no exception. It was Anna's turn to be in control now, and she dragged me over to the door leading round to the girls' dormitories. We scrambled through the barrel top door and down the corridor lit by candle brackets in the shape of badger heads. We took the fourth tunnel on the left, and followed it round as it ran parallel to the corridor we'd just come from.

Anna pushed open this door and it gave a horrible groan as it always had. Despite the lack of natural light, the yellow hangings and bright candles were enough to make it seem like we were outside in the height of July, basking in sunlight. Anna let go of my hand and threw herself on her bed, spread-eagled on the quilt. I grinned and made my way to my bed, opposite hers. I opened my trunk and took out my stuffed rabbit, Fluffsy, before sitting down on the edge, so I could talk to Anna who was groaning at how full she was.

"I'm not going to eat for days," she said, rubbing her flat stomach smoothly. I looked down at mine, a slight paunch, and knew that first thing in the morning I was going to be starving. I sighed and flopped backwards onto the bed. "Mol, what's that on your pillow?"

Anna had sat up so she could see me. I tipped my head backwards to try and catch a glimpse but failed. I hauled myself up too quickly and clutched my head. I steadied myself on a bed-post and shuffled round to pick it up. My name was neatly written on in blue ink, a neat italic script that belonged to my boyfriend.

"It's a letter from Harrison," I murmured, lightly tracing the outline of the envelope. Anna smiled at me softly. "I'll open it later," I vowed, placing it on the bedside table as the door creaked open again and our two room-mates, Alexa Black and Hayley Bulstrode, wandered in, also looking a little green and clutching their stomachs. I sat back down on my bed, one leg tucked underneath me.

"Good summer?" Alexa asked as she collapsed onto her bed, beside Anna's. We both murmured, 'yeah', and it was such an effort to do it.

"I think I'll die if I even see another treacle tart," Hayley exclaimed. She was twice the size of me, a freckled blonde with even thicker glasses than mine and a snout for a nose. As brutish as she looked, she was absolutely lovely: honest, punctual and didn't have a cruel bone in her body. She rolled over to face me. "How's the boyfriend?" she said with a wink. I smiled.

"I've got a letter from him here. He's had family trouble so he's not here for a few more days yet," I said as honestly as I could, trying to convince her that I actually knew something about what was going on. She accepted it, of course, and rolled over.

"I might get some shut eye, actually," Alexa stated, looking at her watch. Her jet black hair cascaded over her shoulders and I was rather jealous of her beautiful and slightly haunting good looks. "See you in the morning."

She pulled off her robes to reveal her day clothes and pulled the hangings round without even taking her shoes off. In seconds, Anna and Hayley admitted that they, too, wanted to get some sleep, and then it was just me. I turned the lights off, got washed, undressed and brushed my teeth and clambered into bed again. I picked up the letter and opened the envelope as quietly as I could, casting a weak _Lumos _charm to enable me to read it.

_My Molly,_

I grinned at the address. He'd always called me that. It made me feel like I was melting to merely read it. I could hear his voice in my head, a weak Geordie accent echoing through my mind. My heart ached for him a little bit.

_I'm a little worried about you. I sent you a letter a few days ago and I have not received a reply. I wonder whether you got the letter, or if your reply got lost in the post._

_I'm sure that if you did not receive my note, that you have noticed my absence today. I am also certain that someone else will have let you know why I am absent, but I shall tell you just in case. I do not want you to worry about me. My grandmother passed away a few days ago. The funeral is this afternoon (September 1__st__). Both Jessica and I will return to school within the next week – the date is still unconfirmed._

_I hope you are well, and that I have not upset you in any way. I cannot wait to be back._

_All my love_

_Harrison_

I felt so guilty as I read his words over and over again in my head. I whispered them out loud, trying to believe his unstoppable kindness. His grandmother had passed away, and he was worrying about **me.** I lay the letter back on the table and tiptoed around to my trunk, which I had left open. I took a piece of parchment and a quill from the top of the pile of junk I'd brought with me and began to write.

_Harrison,  
I did receive your letter but I threw it away accidentally._

_Dearest Harrison,  
I received the letter but mispla_

_Harrison,  
I burnt the letter by accident_

_Darling Harrison,  
I did not receive your_

None of them sounded right. I'd even resorted to lying. I sighed and ran a hand back through my hair. I'd just avert the question. I would tell him when I had him here.

_Dear Harrison,_

_I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother. I know how much she meant to you. I wish I could be with you so that this would be easier.  
There's no need to worry about me. I'm fine. Don't rush back – come back when you're ready.  
You have not, and could not, upset me in anyway. Don't worry about me.  
I miss you,  
Love Your Molly._

I smiled down at the letter and vowed to send it first thing in the morning. It would reach him by mid-afternoon and it would put my mind at ease. I took the charm off my wand and placed it back on my bedside table. Drawing the hangings back around myself, I fell back against my pillow and before I knew it, morning had come.

* * *

**A/N: How do you feel about Molly's friends? A lot of people can't work out if they like them or not. I, personally, do but then again, I wrote them :P**


	7. Chapter 6 Witch Hunt

**Chapter 6 – Witch Hunt**

_4th September 2019: Seb_

How difficult should it be to find a redhead in a school of a few hundred people? 'Not very' would be the usual answer. Typically, this school isn't 'usual' by any stretch of the imagination. It is Weasley-infested, and whilst I should be thanking this fact, for I would never have felt my heart race as it had on the train, I spent the first three days of my last year at Hogwarts cursing it. I had mistaken Dominique for Molly 5 times, third-year Rose for the sixth-year three times and little Lily Potter for her cousin twice. Luckily, I'd never gone directly up to the girls, that would have been extremely embarrassing, but I had merely seen them, felt my breathing jolt until they turned around. When I saw Dominique's chiselled features and choppy red locks framing her face for the last time, I could have screamed. I was sure that these Weasleys would be the end of me, even at a mere seventeen years old.

I'd almost given up, resigned myself to the fact that maybe I had dreamed her up, when on my way back to my common room from Transfiguration, I spotted her coming towards me halfway down the corridor. She was chatting excitedly to the chubby girl from the train, who I prayed would turn left and head off down to the Charms classroom, or double back to Divination. My prayers were answered and I hissed a 'Thank you' to whoever would listen. The girl smiled a goodbye to Molly and disappeared to the right through a door disguised as a portrait. I darted to the opposite side of the corridor, pretending not to have noticed her. I looked down subtly. She was only a few yards away now. I dared not look at her face, for fear of what I might see. I looked down at the floor instead, hunching my shoulders a little.

"I'm sorry!"

Her apologetic voice came teamed with a sharp thud on my hip, as her bag swung into my side. It seemed like she hadn't even noticed me. I'm sure I heard a gasp and I looked down to face her. She seemed smaller as she clutched her bag tighter to her body and looked at me sheepishly. Then her face contorted into a light smile as she recognised me and I relaxed a little.

"Seb!" She sounded so happy to see me. I forced the broad grin away, instead raising my lips into a satisfactory smile.

"Milly," I smoothly replied. She frowned in what I can only assume to have been confusion at my error. Half of me wanted to smirk, the other half, the stronger half, wanted to apologise and correct myself.

"It's Molly," she muttered, so quietly that if I hadn't expected the response, I surely would not have heard. I nodded.

"Sorry, never been much good with names. Where are you off to?" I tried to ask it as nonchalantly as possible. I didn't want to come across as a stalker. I chuckled to myself a little. That was only the beginning.

"Oh, well, the library," she said, glancing up at me quickly, before refocusing her gaze on what must have been a very interesting flagstone. I smiled.

"Me too. Do you want me to walk with you?"

She seemed confused by the fact that I'd been walking in totally the wrong direction to be going to the library, but wisely chose not to argue and nodded. Her hair fell into her eyes and I had the urge to push it away for her. Instead, she did it herself, swiftly and messily, and began to walk off again. I hurried behind her, having to slow myself down to keep her pace. She barely came up to my chest, I noted, as we walked over to the library in complete silence.

"NEWT Transfiguration is so hard."

Her statement came out of nowhere and she sounded genuinely upset by it. We veered left into the library, past the desk of the ageing librarian, Achilles Sykes. He stared beadily at us, but with a smile from me, one of the regulars, he relaxed and smiled back, his crooked teeth bared. I let Molly guide me down to the Transfiguration section and sit down with a dejected thump at a table. I sat opposite her, trying to think of some comfort.

"Wait until you start with Potions. It's impossible."

Yeah, Seb, really comforting, that. Tell her it can only get worse. Molly groaned at my words and her head fell forwards onto her arms. I made out a strangled 'Why?' from her and I cursed myself.

"It'll get better," I said wistfully. She lifted her head so her chin was instead resting on her forearms and she could see me properly.

"Really?" She sounded so trusting, she had so much belief in what I said. Me. A guy she'd met only once before. It made me want to jump up and punch the air.

"Yeah. They say things can only get better, don't they?" I soothed. She looked at me, her big blue eyes penetrating my gaze, deciphering its true meaning. I stared back at her, trying to show that I wasn't lying. She seemed to believe me because she hauled her head off the table and slumped back in her chair.

"In that case, can you please help me with this? I have to practice Partial Vanishment and I have no idea where to start." She held out a book, a chapter marked with a purple-tassled bookmark. I glanced over the heading and smiled.

"It's easy. This is OWL level, Molly," I said pointedly. She sighed and informed me about her inability to Vanish a whole thing, let alone Partial Vanishing. "Well, come here. I'll show you." I pointed to a chapter in her book and took out my wand. It took me fifteen minutes to get her to understand how to Vanish something, and an additional fifteen to get her to actually perform the spell. After that, Partial Vanishment was a doddle.

When she successfully Vanished the feathers of my quill, though not the quill itself, she squealed quietly and grinned at me. "Thank you! I owe you." I shrugged it off.

"Anytime." She grinned and looked back to her book, slamming it shut loudly and triumphantly. I couldn't help but give a 'shush' and she frowned. "Do you want to get chucked out?" I hissed, tilting my head towards the front of the library, where I was sure that Mr. Sykes was preparing to find the perpetrator and throw them out. She blushed lightly and shook her head like a school girl. Well, given that that is exactly what she was, it was unsurprising. "Sorry. I'm not scolding you. I just don't want him to hold a grudge against you, that's all." She nodded in understanding. We were silent for a moment before –

"So, what's NEWT Potions like then?"

I groaned and she giggled at the noise. I looked up at her under my eyes and her cheeks reddened a little. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking. I had no choice but to tell her the truth – I was hopeless at Potions. When I said it to her, she laughed. "And there's me thinking that Harper had let us off easy on the first lesson," she said with a cheeky smile. She seemed to be having another internal struggle before she blurted out, "I love Potions." I was taken aback by this and laughed incredulously.

"How?" I sounded ridiculous, I knew that. I shook my head in disbelief. "It's just guesswork. One wrong move and you've made a complete hash of it. No, Transfiguration is much easier."

"Yes. Where if you don't swish your wand enough, you'll make a cup turn into a parrot instead of giving it another handle," she replied, an eyebrow raised, daring me to argue. I thought for a second and remembered my mother's voice 'If you can't give a witty answer in five seconds, give up.' So I did, reluctantly. She sat back in her chair, arms folded across her chest over the emblem sewn onto her robes. I leant forwards, arms resting on the edge of the table. "You know, it's really easy, once you get the hang of it." It took me a second to backtrack into the conversation. "I mean it," she added with a glance at me. I raised my own eyebrows and she shook her head. "I'm going to do Potions research after school, I think," she said dreamily. "Aunt Ginny has this friend who does that kind of thing. I'm sure she could put in a good word for me."

"So children of future generations are going to learn all about your discoveries?" I had to admit, it sounded fascinating. She nodded enthusiastically.

"You sounded pretty interested by that, admit it," she prompted with a giggle. Her eyes focused upon mine, I felt like I was staring into the sun, she was blinding me. I laughed softly too and nodded. "I knew it!" It fell out of her mouth smoothly and with a broad grin gracing her lips.

"Molly?"

The voice came from behind me. Her grin fell a little, a barely noticeable amount, and a tall blond boy came into view. She opened her mouth and words escaped her for a moment. I glanced contemptuously up at him; he looked a little disorientated and confused.

"Harrison."

Her voice was a whisper, and she pushed back her chair, rose and reached up to hug him. Her arms came up to his neck whilst his wrapped around her waist. I imagined myself in that position; _my_ head resting on her shoulder instead of his, _my_ hair that she was wrapping around her fingers as she held onto _my_ neck. 'So this is what jealousy feels like,' my mind mused as I watched, unable to tear my eyes away.

They drew apart and I watched him dip his head to kiss her. With a barely detectable glance at me, Molly turned her head so his lips met her freckled cheek. The poor boy looked terribly confused as Molly stepped back from his embrace and looked down at her work. She gathered it messily together and shoved it all inside her bag. She looked across to me, just a fleeting glance as though it meant nothing. I had the urge to ask her to stay, to tell this boy, her _boyfriend_, that she was helping me and he'd have to wait but I resisted. She clearly wanted to leave, as she threw her bag on her shoulder and took him by the hand.

"Thanks for the help," she muttered, not meeting my gaze. I had a good mind to tell her where to go for help next time, but couldn't bring myself to.

"Anytime."

I found myself saying, kicking the chair that she'd pushed back under the table with my left foot. I was staring down at the desk, willing her to leave when I felt her hand on my shoulder, accompanied by a gentle squeeze. I didn't dare lift my eyes. I didn't want to see her face, I didn't know what I'd do, so I merely shrugged my shoulder so that her hand fell away and continued to glare at the knot in the oak table that I apparently found very interesting.

Once the soft padding of her shoes on the carpet of the library floor died away, I groaned and looked up to the top of the bookshelf opposite me, putting my hands behind my head and shaking it. I checked my watch swiftly and swore. I'd managed to miss the first fifteen minutes of double Defence already. Professor Rackharrow was going to _kill_ me. I shoved all my work into my bag and ran from the library, shouting an apology to Sykes on my way out. I could see the blond's head bouncing down the corridor ahead.

Not wanting to come across them again, I instead took the long route through a tapestry, and pelted down the next corridor to the Defence classroom. I stood outside for a few minutes to catch my breath. I clutched my side and cursed the lack of exercise I'd undertaken over the summer. Once my heart was beating at a passable rate, I took a last deep breath and opened the door quietly and quickly, praying the teacher was in a good mood.

--

Alas, my prayer went unanswered and I was awarded my first detention of the year. The jumped up professor had told me to sit down beside Delphine Urquhart and to be quiet. I slid into the seat beside the promiscuous blonde and drew out my things as silently as possible. Of course, when one is trying to be silent, it never quite works and I found every eye in the room staring at me beadily. I shook my hair into my eyes, trying to look more and more like a shadow but every little noise I made seemed to be amplified by a thousand. Just when I thought I'd get away with the inevitable detention, I heard, "And Mr Becker? Thirty points from Slytherin. See me after class."

The four other Slytherins in the room groaned and Delphine glared at me sideways. I bit my tongue to stop myself from making comment. I'd try and sweet talk Rackharrow after the lesson. Instead, I focused on trying to be as quiet as a mouse, the only noise I would make would be my quill scratching the surface of my parchment as I noted down the professor's words.

As I emerged from the Defence classroom an hour later holding a detention slip, I was positively fuming. I'd always been so careful with Rackharrow, one of the most difficult teachers in the school. I always handed in homework on time, arrived to each lesson early, but no matter how many positive actions I'd undertaken, it counted for nothing with her. Fuming, I pushed past lost first-years and chattering, giggling girls and stormed down to the common room. I wasn't in the mood to eat, even as the smell of chicken and chips floated out from the Great Hall, a temptress seducing my senses. I stormed down the staircase to the dungeons, glad of the damp smell and dripping ceiling that came with it, taking my mind off the need for food. I yelled the password at the stretch of wall, and I was positive that had it been a portrait, I'd have received a mountain load of back chat. As it was, I was able to get into the common room quickly, and ignoring Adam's shouts from the settee as to what Rackharrow had had to say to me, I flew into my dorm and onto my bed, pulling the hangings shut with such force that I was surprised they hadn't ripped off.

I didn't go to Charms that day, and I didn't head upstairs for dinner either. I was still reeling from the punishment. I'd only had five detentions in my life: none of which had been my fault exactly. I had punched my pillow so many times that a dent had formed in the centre, curved exactly to the shape of my fist. How could that girl have made time stop for me? How did she make ninety minutes seem like ten? It was impossible. But none of that mattered. She'd damaged me. Such a seemingly innocent girl was harbouring something else inside her, something that made me different, something that was changing me every second I spent with her.

My mind was turning in circles. If she came after me, what would I do? Would I let myself be changed by this tiny person, this girl who should be so insignificant to me? Or would I walk away, be as strong as I'd been all my life and leave it as it was before September 1st? In a few hours, she'd changed me. She was more than just a mediocre witch, she was more captivating than Victoire and Dominique put together and trying to pinpoint what it was that made her so was infuriating. I let a confused, exasperated groan fall from my mouth. I slammed myself back down onto my pillows, drew my hangings with a flick of my wand and fell into a light, restless slumber.

* * *

**A/N: -squee- This chapter is my ultimate favourite (until chapter 8) - I adore Seb. It's probably not healthy to love an OC this much!**

**Anyone share my feelings towards him?**

**(If it helps, if I were to cast someone to play him, it'd be Tom Sturridge!)**


	8. Chapter 7 Overload

Chapter 7 – Emotional Overload

**September 4th 2009: Molly**

Why then? Why in all the time he had to turn up back at school did my idiot boyfriend choose then? As I walked away from the table to the doors of the library, I hoped that Seb had picked up on my gesture. The hand on his shoulder, the gentle squeeze that I prayed reflected my apology. The way he shrugged it off meant I might have a bit of grovelling to do when I next saw him. It astounded me, the way in which he had this hold on me, like I was on a leash and he just kept pulling me in, closer and closer. I'd known this boy for less than a week and already he had forced me into wanting to leave my bereaved boyfriend and spend hours upon hours with him instead.

"What was all that about?" Harrison's voice was a hiss, a harsh whisper chopping through the air like a sword. Taken aback by the uncharacteristic tone, I looked up at him. His hand gripped mine tighter than before, clammy and disgusting. I tried to loosen my grasp but he didn't take the hint.

"What?" Feigning innocence always works; at least it does for me. He wasn't buying it. He glanced down at me, his eyes searching my face before he looked away again.

"You know what." His tone had progressed to a growl now. I took my eyes away from him as we veered right out of the library, up towards his common room. I said nothing. "Molly, why did you squeeze a stranger's shoulder?" Now that we were out of the dark library, he had calmed a little.

"It was just an apology, a thank you," I responded, dragging my feet a bit, "and he's not a stranger," I added without thinking it through. He certainly wasn't a _friend _yet, I knew nothing of him, but he wasn't a _stranger _either really. I wasn't looking at him, but I could almost feel Harrison's eyebrows rising in disbelief. I went on to explain before he could catch me out: the fact that I'd met him on the train and he was helping me with Transfiguration. As soon as the words slipped from my mouth, I knew I'd made a mistake.

"But…" the words stopped. I knew what he was going to say. His hand dropped from mine.

"Harrison don't," I pleaded, taking his wrist in my hand and pulling him to a stop, forcing the second-year behind me to almost go into the back of me. She sent me a scowl and stormed past. I glared after her then raised my eyes to meet his. "I bumped into Seb and he agreed to help me, that's all." I felt ridiculous, fighting my cause without having done anything wrong. "You weren't here. I didn't know when you'd be back." His nostrils flared and I looked away, dropping my grip on his wrist.

"Maybe if you'd replied to my letters you'd…" he trailed off again. I stared at the ground. If there was one thing he could do, it was make me feel exceptionally guilty. "Come on." It was his turn to take my wrist this time, and together we walked up to the Ravenclaw common room. Carefully, tactfully, I brought my wrist upwards, so his hand slipped back into mine. I gave it a reassuring squeeze and nestled closer to him. The smell of his aftershave wafted down under my nose and I smiled. I'd missed him, and given the choice, I'd choose reliable, trustworthy Harrison over anyone else any day.

--

Once upstairs in his dormitory, he turned to me, holding both of my hands in his. "You look amazing," he said, stroking my short fringe back behind my ear. He chuckled lightly as it fell back in front of my eyes. I'd forgotten that he hadn't laid eyes on me since I'd updated my look. "What-" he began, still laughing a little, "happened?" I faked offence, crossing my arms in a huff. He stroked my cheek softly, "That's not an insult, darling." The pet name sent a shiver down my spine. It felt like months since we'd last met in Diagon Alley, two days before my makeover. I smiled into his caress, kissing the palm of his hand as his hand traced the shape of my face.

"Victoire," I giggled, putting an arm around his waist and pulling him towards me a little. He rolled his eyes, completely understanding. His hands fell and imitated my action. "I just wanted a change, that's all," I replied, with a straighter face. "Do you approve?" I smiled up at him, feeling safe as my gaze met his. He dipped his head, giving a small moan of approval before his lips collided with mine. It was like fire meeting ice, I was melting at his touch. My mind flickered back to Seb, the way he made my body feel like it had been electrocuted from a tiny quirk of his lip and I pulled away, feeling adulterous already.

"What's up?" he asked, taking one of my hands and squeezing it reassuringly. I smiled, trying to hide my shame. "Hey," he tilted my chin up so he was staring at me.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "I should be worrying about you, not the other way around." He smiled a little, almost a grimace, as the thought of his grandmother's death suddenly hit him again.

"Why didn't you reply to the first letter? You didn't say," he asked, twirling a strand of my hair around his finger. I smiled.

"I didn't know how to tell you that I burnt it," I responded sheepishly. He raised his eyebrows and made a strange choked laugh sound. Before he could ask, I answered for him, "I got it after I did this," I gestured at my attire and hair. "I burnt all my old clothes and it fell in the bag. I didn't realise until afterwards and…I thought it would wait. I'm so sorry." I wasn't sure what I was apologising for: my accidental burning of the letter or the loss of his grandmother. Either way, he answered for the latter.

"It's fine. I should have popped around or something, to tell you." I felt so infuriated that he was still blaming himself for my mistake. I looked up at him fiercely.

"Don't you dare blame yourself," I told him, my eyes narrowing. He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, surrendering I assumed, since he moved on to another topic.

"Who was he, then?" I think I preferred the topic of conversation before. I felt his hand burning mine. I yearned to release it; I felt like the shame of the identity of the 'mystery man' was being transferred into his body, so sure that he'd figure me out.

"His name is Seb Becker. He's a seventh year Slytherin. We met him on the train the other day," I tried to keep my voice calm. I didn't want to relay the fact that my heart was racing and my stomach turning at the mere memory of his steely glare and his raspy Scottish brogue. "I just bumped into him in the corridor and he was going to the library too. He offered to give me help. That was all." I grinned at him, hoping to disguise it as me teasing him rather than the reality: that it was the memory of Seb's caring tone as he patiently helped me with the basic work, which must have seemed so simple to him, that had put this smile on my face. "There's no need to be jealous." I stuck my tongue out and gave his shoulder a shove with my own. He laughed and reached out to tickle me. I squealed as he pinned me down onto the bed, his fingers lightly tracing over my upper body. We giggled together, before I grabbed his arms and pulled him down, our lips colliding softly. As his fingers got acquainted with the new length of my choppy hair, I smiled into his kiss, feeling almost content in our own little world.

We nearly missed our Charms lesson at midday. If it hadn't been for one of Harrison's roommates barging in, asking me if he'd be so kind as to let my boyfriend go to his lessons today, we'd have still been having an extremely good time on his bed until Merlin knows when. Sheepishly, Harrison climbed off me and I sat up, ruffling my hair so it looked a little less wayward. He grabbed my bag and slung his arm around me again. We'd missed lunch but surprisingly, I wasn't hungry. As we headed over to the Charms classroom, we were stopped twice by friends of Harrison, offering condolences or words of welcome. He smiled serenely at all of them, tightening his grip upon me. He peppered kisses on the top of my head, and in return I squeezed his waist.

The reaction that Elkins gave when we walked in to the classroom was ridiculous. He might as well have been on his knees in front of him, praying and worshipping Harrison as though he were a god. He forced him into a seat at the front of class and sent me back to sit with Cathy Shields and Anna, who cleared her stuff from the desk to let me sit down. I spent my whole lesson staring at the back of Harrison's head. My heart fluttered each time he turned in his chair to grin at me, the way the left side of his mouth went higher than the right made me smile every single time I saw him. I found myself gazing at the way his hair curled at the back of his head, and only the rapping of a ruler sharply on the desk in front of me brought me out of the daydream.

"Miss Weasley, if you'd care to do your daydreaming about Tierney in your own time I'd very much appreciate it," Elkins said, his grey eyebrows raised expectantly. I felt my cheeks heat up.

"Sorry, sir," I stuttered, feeling every eye in the room on me. His mouth turned up at one side. I awaited his call for me to join him for detention.

"Just focus in future, Miss Weasley," he said with a sigh, walking off. I held my breath, not quite sure why the usually strict Charms professor was being so lenient. Harrison turned in his chair and grinned. I checked to see that Elkins was stood with his back to me and stuck my tongue out at him. He smirked and turned back in his seat in perfect timing to coincide with the professor's return to the front of the room, and to answer his question about colour changing.

"You got off lightly, _Miss Weasley_," Harrison teased as we wandered back upstairs to his common room. I laughed and shrugged, just as confused as he was to hear of Elkins' decision to let me off the hook. He slung an arm around me, squeezing my shoulders. I was in heaven as he dipped his head to kiss me, right there in the corridor. I felt myself blushing as a few kids wolf-whistled around us. He drew back and winked at me, lightly running his thumb over my red cheeks.

I've never spent a more blissful afternoon. We lay on his bed until tea time, talking about everything and anything. We had tears as we discussed his grandmother, laughter about his brother's girlfriend, embraced together on his blue and bronze bedding, the hangings drawn around us, our own little annexe.

"We should go and eat," he whispered in my ear, his breath tickled me, making me come over all woozy for a moment. I nodded and made a satisfied moan as he kissed my neck before sitting upright. He held out his hand, ever the gentleman, helping me up and walking me downstairs. My stomach was screaming for food, its greedy groans only escalating as the smell of roast beef sneaked up the stair case, hiding behind corridors, teasing us terribly. Harrison pecked my cheek as we reached the Entrance Hall. He headed down to the Ravenclaw table, facing my Hufflepuff benches, whilst I mirrored him. My eyes inadvertently fell on the table behind him, where the stocky girl from the train was sat with a tall, shaven headed boy's arm draped around her, and I noticed what was missing from the scene.

To say that I hadn't thought about Seb all afternoon would be a lie. To pretend that every time Harrison pressed his lips to mine, I didn't wonder what it would be like to be in the arms of someone else. It made me feel quite ill, actually, to think that whilst I comforted my grieving boyfriend, I wondered whether or not the Slytherin boy would have the same reaction. His absence pained me. Not being able to catch his eye across the hall and smile a small apology at him made me feel a little empty.

I wasn't the only one who had noted his absence, as I caught the end of Anna and Max's conversation, "…imagined him. You never know. Or he could have just been some creepy paedophile who got on the train at…" Max trailed off as he noticed me sitting beside him. I raised my eyebrows at him and he blushed a wonderful crimson that any Weasley would have been proud of. "Sorry." I shook my head, eagerly spooning food onto my plate as though I hadn't eaten in weeks. To be honest, it _felt_ like I hadn't eaten in weeks. We sat in silence for a few moments and I let innocent chatter from around the room fill my ears: talk about Quidditch, Professor Graves' hair, James Potter's latest detention.

"Molly?" Max's voice was soft, almost fearful of my response to his one word question. I looked at him expectantly. It was almost impossible to be angry at him for long. I nodded, popping my last potato in my mouth. "Do you think…" I didn't let him finish before I cut in with –

"I saw him today, Max, he's real. He's a real seventh year, not some pervert who managed to last the whole journey on the train talking to us," I said pointedly. He looked at me, his turn to raise his eyebrows this time and let the matter drop.

"Elkins was light on you today," Anna's voice was a welcome distraction. I laughed and agreed with a shrug. My gaze drifted over to where Harrison was sat, to find him staring at me. He smiled as I caught his eye and I tried to grin back, but I couldn't. Seeing him just gazing at me, whilst I sat oblivious, made me feel vulnerable, exposed to everyone. I'd never had that reaction before. My mind was spinning. I could almost feel myself changing. Harrison's penetrating gaze had never irked me before. It certainly had never unnerved me in the way it had at that moment. His softness, his willingness to agree with everything I said was a little annoying, I'd discovered, and whilst the caresses and hugs and kisses had been heaven that afternoon, I'd found myself employing them just to shut him up.

"Mol?" Max's voice snapped me out of my daydream and I looked across. "Tart?" he held out a jam tart in his pale hand. I smiled and took it from him, pulling the foil base off and picking the edges from it. I looked up under my eyes to see Harrison in deep conversation with Mia, and Seb's friends rising. I quickly ate the pastry and turned to my friends.

"I've just remembered that I've got some reading to do for tomorrow. I'll see you later," I was on my feet before the Slytherin girl had reached the doors. I tried not to hurry too much, I didn't want it to seem too obvious that I was in a rush. I half expected Harrison to rise with me, but he was far too involved in conversation to notice that I was halfway out of the room. My legs couldn't move fast enough, and as soon as I was out of the doors, I darted around the two Gryffindors I was following and shuffled quickly to the door to the dungeons, with a quick glance behind me to ensure that no-one was watching me. My pace quickened. The voices of the girl and her boyfriend echoed from somewhere ahead of me. I tried to think of her name, surely he mentioned it on the train, but my mind was blank. My trot turned to a jog. I could hear their voices even louder now. I rounded a corner and they came into sight. At the sound of my footsteps, the boy turned and elbowed his girlfriend, who followed his gaze to me. She seemed torn between a scowl and a smile, whether to walk away or talk. She opted for the latter as I gained on them, slowing down to a fast walk again.

"Yes, Weasley?" she asked, looking at me. I must have looked a mess. Exercising was at the bottom of my priority list. I brushed my hair out of my face.

"I want to see Seb," I stuttered, knowing that it sounded childish and almost stalker like. She looked me up and down, glanced across to her boyfriend who merely shrugged and beckoned me after them. When we reached a blank stretch of wall, she whispered the password so quietly that I was surprised it registered and we stepped into the Slytherin common room.

It was the only house room that I hadn't been in before and it didn't surprise me. Whilst the Ravenclaw one was filled with books and held an elegant aura, and the Gryffindors' meeting place was comfy and battle-worn, this room was dank and dark. It was long and narrow, and it felt damp, even though I was sure it wasn't. A few people turned to look at me, smirked and looked away.

"Come with me," the boy said, beckoning me towards a door set back from the wall. I tensed and followed him, not looking up from the bottom of his robes. I felt cold down there. There was no natural light and it made me feel depressed. The boy knocked on the dormitory marked '7th Year Boys' and after no noise from inside, he opened the door. "Go in, I'll keep the others away." I thanked him with a smile and shut the door after him.

The dorm was just as gloomy as the common room. I stepped towards the only bed with the hangings drawn. "Get lost." My footsteps obviously weren't as quiet as I'd hoped and I sighed.

"It's Molly." My voice was weak, my fear of rejection showing through under the confidence I was trying my utmost to attain. The bed groaned underneath him as he leant over and pulled apart his hangings. He sat up in the bed and swung his legs over the side.

"What?" he asked gruffly. I flinched, leaning against a post by the neighbouring bed. He groaned, rubbing his eyes with reddened hands. They fell onto his lap and he looked up at me expectantly.

"I…I," cursing myself, I stopped. I took a deep breath and continued, "I've come to apologise. For earlier." His face softened a little and he gestured for me to sit down on the neighbouring bed. I looked across at it but stayed still.

"It's only Adam's. He won't mind." I nodded, slightly afraid of _not _taking the seat and perched precariously on the edge of the bed. He expected me to go on. I stammered a little again.

"If the situation with Harrison had been different, I wouldn't have gone," I explained, my hands flying everywhere in my enthusiasm for him to believe me. "Honestly. I was enjoying it, but he needed me." I stopped. I could say no more. He nodded slowly, pulling his feet up to his chest and hugging his legs. He looked horribly vulnerable. I sighed, pushing my hair out of my face. "I can't say much else, Seb." I smoothed down my robes and stood up. If he didn't want to accept it, then he wasn't worth my attention.

"Okay. Thank you." He was looking straight at me; his eyes gave nothing away as he looked blankly into my own. I looked away first, my hair shielding my eyes from his penetrating gaze. I glanced back to him, hoping for some sign that he was about to blurt out an apology, but no luck. I pressed my lips tightly together, in a very good impression of Aunt Hermione, and left without another word.

I contained myself until I reached my common room, and thanked Merlin for the first time in a long time that I wasn't in Gryffindor. I ignored Max's shouts from the far side of the Common Room and walked straight down to my dormitory, cursing the winding passageways that led to them. I ignored Hayley and Alexa as they paused in their conversation, and drew the hangings round my bed without even changing out of my clothes. They'd been right, Nina, Anna and Max had been right all along, and I _really _wasn't in the mood for the inevitable 'I told you so's that awaited me when they discovered that Seb Becker was nothing more than a selfish, spoilt Slytherin slimeball.

* * *

**A/N: I know no-one reads this BUT in case somebody does, Chapter 8 = absolute fave so hang around for that one, coming soon :D**


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